Oddly I’ve thought back on most of my occupied time since last posting and I’ve seen a common thread. I’ve developed a desire to watch what approximates some form of other’s problems. I’ve split my time between reading (which with a great character driven novel is always voyeuristic), listening to the savage love podcast, and catching up on season one of In Treatment and season two of Big Love.
Not sure what the deal is, except I think I’d rather submerse myself in other people’s problems than cope with my own. But the problem is that I think most of my friends are problem free and far more functional in this reality than myself, so I’m left with Dan’s cast of anonymous neurotics and the fictional depths of HBO writer’s darkest childhood repressions.
I’m not sure there is anything wrong with it. God knows the highlight of my week is usually Tuesday’s therapy session. So desperate this time around for someone I can be myself with that I have built a system of trust up with her rather quickly. I haven’t cried in front of her or anything, but that’s no shock since it’s only been little over a month and I usually don’t cry till I’ve known someone for over six months and we’ve just finished some really great sex.
A cold wind blew through Philly for the first few days this week. It made me think wicked thoughts, and that everything was possible. It must have run through NYC too because I got almost simultaneous text messages from an ex and a gentleman of ill-repute. As I walked down market street and felt the wind chill me from every direction, ricocheting off buildings and sweeping up skirts, I wandered if anyone doesn’t feel the pull of the northern wind. If everyone isn’t a gypsy at heart when on an 80 degree day in August they feel a 50 degree wind beating promises of anywhere-but-here in their ear drums.
Oh the wander-lust is too strong to enumerate. Fall comes and all I want is to find Sal and Shadow and Hunter and every other that has shown me the face of America. I want to get behind the wheel of an old pickup or a beat-up hatchback with a full ashtray and drive until the fucker overheats outside of a pillbox diner looking for a waitress named Peggy. And I could be that Peggy for a few nights or a few weeks, beg and barter for repairs until the wind blows me farther away.
Speaking of which, I’m walking up Chestnut and a I see a guy maybe a year or two older than myself, with a scant beard, a fishing hat, aviator glasses, and a cigarette holder chomped between his teeth. Some peculiar Hunter castaway, cramped over the steering wheel, meeting my gaze and clearly seeing another lizard eying him up for dinner.
Made me smile. Made me think of infinity looping in on itself and the legacies left of a maniacal genius.
It’s so hot, I’m Southern.
I’m on a porch in a beater chewing straw, saying things like Sho’ wish we’d get some weather. There’s an old women calling me Jasper, an a pickup truck I’ve been working on since back when they knew how to make a pickup truck.
My personal ban on air conditioning was broken today when my lovely sister and her mate brought her own unit over while I was at the conference. It’s nice. I ran it for a few hours and then turned it off. I’m hopping that won’t kill too many polar bears. You all know how I feel about my polar bears (I swear when I have free time there will be t-shirts).
Went and got Water Ice (if you aren’t from philly, Italian Ice) for dinner. I had to walk about 7 blocks for it, but it was well worth it. I’ve been having trouble finding the right summer music. Went with Guster’s new CD, and that fit pretty well. The whole album reminds me of going back to the town you grew up in, or if you had money growing up maybe the town you summered in, as barely an adult. And you think you should feel nostalgic, but wandering around in the hot sun all you feel is old and disconnected.
That pretty much sums up a lot for me right now.
I really want to dive right into some editing, but my brain hurts and my eyes are having trouble staying open.
I woke up with bags under my eyes and unable to breath through my nose which means my sinuses are acting up. Can anyone properly explain to be the difference between my allergies acting up and my sinuses acting up? Is there one?
Also if anyone out there has applied to grad school before, let me know. I’ve got some questions and it’s rapidly approaching the time I should be applying.
I’m really waffling right now between the MFA and the Ph.D and think I might leave it up to the Fates. Even as I type this though I picture them irritated by my presumption and striking me dead.
I want to post some fun writing exercises up here when I don’t feel half dead.
If I’m short on posts this week, it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s only because I need to get two more As this semester.
So I spent the day listening to Portishead, which is the equivalent of waling around on E. No seriously, my internal monologue was hmmm,I could climb that. Yeah, it was fun, but shouldn’t be repeated outside of the company of a loved one to be determined .
Have I talked to you about my home planet, and what I’d be like without your stupid gravity? Yeah well Portishead is probably from my home planet because they certainly are all flowey.
Really just a quick post before I watch another BG episode and hit the sack early. Speak of Battlestar Gallactica though, how about that pyramid ball? Along the lines of the first paragraph, that is something would enjoy playing . . .
Wow, my mind is all sorts of dirty tonight. Possibly the warm weather.
Rachel Ray is apparently spending her free time with Osama
Can I tell you the second blogs are able to effect the news in this way is exactly the time someone should blow up the internet. I am constantly amazed at how stupid the right half of the country is. Sometimes a scarf is just a scarf. Although I’m thinking about making myself a burqa and covering in pictures of dead fetuses and sending the picture into blogger that started this all.
I’ve never been a fan of Dunkin Donuts, mostly because their coffee tastes like ass twice boiled. A few elections ago they did a stupid poll and discovered that the majority of Republicans get their coffee from Dunkin Donuts and the majority of Dems get their coffee (like this is a fucking surprise) from Starbucks. And I am an elitist asshole who revels in my Starbucks coffee. Well no, to be honest I revel in all coffee. But between the Islamic donut jihads and the fact that They Might Be Giants are doing music for their commercials, I might have to try and stop in for a cup every now and then. Maybe if enough Dems start getting their coffee at DD and Starbucks, the right will be forced to get their coffee from the circle K and Citgo stations.
Okay see this is just bitter ranting.
Okay here’s a great way to get mini blogs: write them on awful phone .
I do love how supportive all of you are, and appreciate more than i can say all the messages. But i fear for your sensitivity, because it can get much much uglier before it gets better.
Not that i think it will, but it’ not like it is without precedence.
I’ve been at work since 7am and I’ve maintained good energy all day on 2 cups of coffee and a coke zero. Not shabby.
Sent out an email into some bipolar treatment options. Not saying Ill try something new, but always worth a look.
Let practice for my next GREs —
St. Joes is to Philadelphia as:
- Blue is to cathartic
- Sentimetal is to nostalgic
- Boston is to Abu Dahbi
If you answered Boston is to Abu Dhabi you are right. Yeah, waiting for the bus home right now. Tad chilly, but compared to the vicious slizzards I’ve braved for my education i don’t mind. Though I’d rather be in NYC right now.
So I’ve been listening to the new counting crows cd. Been meaning to put something about it here for a while, but you know how that goes. Ore you don’t. Either way.
So when i say I’ve been listening to the cd, I’m lying. I’ve been listening to a handful of songs, and When I Dream of Michaelangelo over and over on repeat. I feel like a teenager again. Not sure that was a happy place to be.
Last song i did this with was with girl in the blue dress (which you can read about here if you weren’t following this back then). When I listened to that on repeat I wanted to find a friend. While listening to When I Dream of Michaelangelo it enables me to fold into myself. The lyrics of it remind of a conversation with the stunted self that I’ve been trying to communicate with again. My certain self that holds most of my damage and very little joy.
The is a line in On Almost Any Sunday Morning:
This lithium is heroin to me which fully encapsulates where I want to be with my meds, and although I’m getting closer with that craving of stability it’s still something I’m working towards.
All in all the album was worth the 6 year wait. There are songs in ther which will make my top rated. I’ve been a huge defender of alot of CC fans who trash everything past the first album, but this is probably my least favorite piece. I can’t speak towards music, because I don’t know music that well at all, but I can speak to lyrics and I felt that the album was a bit derivative of previous themes and motifs in all the other CC albums.
And the difference between good lyrics and great lyrics to me are what I can and can’t replicate. When I can see the man behind the curtain I’m less interested. My favorite poets are the ones I am least like, because I can keep striving for there brilliance. This album gave me the least lyrically to keep me striving, but plenty of great songs to wallow in.
Also conceptually I thought it was strong with the break down between Saturday nights hard rock and the Sunday morning hangover.
My new tattoo is finished! So psyched, now I just need to get it priced and go out and get it. I think I will abstain from beer until I can afford my tattoo. I’ve been thinking a detox is just what my body and soul needs right now to find clarity. It should take me a month to save up the cash for the piece. I’ll check with Neighbor Jenny to see if I can post the work here first or if I have to wait and just put it up when she comes with me to document getting the new piece.
I’m so excited I could spit.
So Last night I’m sitting there with Michael Stipe and two Indonesian hookers (not sure of either gender) . . .
Now that would be far more interesting than anything here, so if you want to stop reading there, you have my blessing.
The beauty of a stopped clock is that it’s right twice a day. The other beauty is every time you forget it’s not right it’s close enough to the time of day it is that you are continuously late or early for things.
The beauty of me is that I still don’t change the battery after 4 days.
So a chill weekend, filled with my neurosis and some electronic music. Who knows why for either. iTunes made buying music so easy I forgot how fun it can be to steal music! And since I haven’t payed attention to electronic music I checked around to see what was up.
Ended up just buying a Moby Cd, and stealing some old soul coughing (which is so not electronic) which I’ve been meaning on having for posterity’s sake.
Yesterday was Free Comic Day!! All hail the greatest holiday aside from Talk Like A Pirate Day. Somehow free comic day turns into a $50 splurge on new stuff. I have a sickness shaped like graphic novels. IT is covering the floor of my kitchen looking for space to crawl up on my bookshelves.
Went to check out Adam’s Band open for Fat City Reprise at the TLA. Adam was awesome, but ‘the family’ and I were sorta of snarky and grumpy so I was home last night by 9pm. I watched Bill Maher and fell asleep half way through.
tomorrow is Eddie Izzard at the Kimmel! Woo! This is me dancing around my kitchen.
Tonight for dinner I did pork chops crusted in parmesean and sage (with some sheep cheese added to the parmesean) and a four cheese risoto and spinach soufflé. The soufflé and risotto were out of boxes, so don’t be too impressed. Still it smells awesome.
paused to actually eat dinner. have to love real time blogging attempts, right? I mean I could totally lie to you and pretend that I’m holding off on eating my dinner to finish this blog. by being honest about how you are less important than pork chops, I’m actually showing you have important you are to me. something just made a banging sound, I’m going to go investigate it.
the jelly fell over in the fridge. now onto food.
Damn. I must remember that recipe.
So today I clean out and organized my closet. I have two full trash bags going to the good will, and a half-filled trash bag with things beyond repair. I even color coordinated my t-shirts. There are three piles: black, gray, every thing else. I live in a grayscale world, I’m good with that.
Here’s Squiddly for sticking with me this far:
I have the next week off of school, which really only amounts to not having to go in Tuesday night, but I’m hopeful I’ll be productive. Hasn’t really happened yet, but I’m a believer that any day now I’ll be a grown-up.
Keep an eye on the blog for another date this week.
I don’t have high hopes for finding that special someone as I sit on my couch with my 20lb cat, watching Vh1 reality shows and picking pork chop out of my teeth. Yeah, I’m probably not the ideal mate.
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