forget me nots

uuuhggghhhgghh. so hungover, and with less than 48 hours to go in san francisco, and then I'm at my mom's for a day of decompression and last minute familial bonding. vacillating between being too nervous to form coherent sentences to being pretty apathetic about the impending massive change. I've spent so much time needlessly worrying over trivial things... I feel like I'm finally all worried out. either that, or I'm in some sort of homeostatic shock.

my final goodbye party was last night at the velvet cantina and had a heartening turnout. I certainly had a "you love me you really love me" moment or two, my favorite of which was randomly procuring a bloody nose that refused to coagulate which led to cassandra holding a paper towel in my nostril as I held my butt off of the toilet seat with both hands while I peed out a river of exorbitant amounts of tequila. that's some love right there. thanks homegirl.

it was weird that a few familiar faces were missing... scotty was sick, max was assaulted on muni (suuuure), and zoe is in mexico. jon was not invited, and I don't care to see him before I go. I spent a day pretty wrecked over our anti-climactic end, but I'm making peace with it. I'm sticking my metaphorical fork in it.

this is a seriously disjointed post, but my hangover is still clouding my head. I've got to peel myself off the couch and pack. I am so checked out already. I'm ready for what comes next. new york city. I'm really doing this...

34 days

having been sick for a month has really brought my quality of life down, and that's most likely the last thing I need right now as I'm bolstering my brass balls for a gallant move across the country and trying to work as much as possible to pad my modestly furnished (to say the least) bank account. this morning upon waking up I became excited that I'd regained some of my voice and triumphantly only woke up 3 times during the night. only 3! stop the presses! flush that bottle of tylenol pm and burn your eye pillow! that's practically a full 5 hours!

part of the melancholy mood is my faulty immune system, and the other part could be seasonal affective disorder, but as the dawns break and sundowns fall, each day feels shorter and I am coming to terms with leaving san francisco. my main focus is that I want to let it go, rather than run away. I have some preconceived notions of how living in brooklyn will be, and some are so heartening and fresh, and then there is the one that I'm sure of, and that is that I will be lonely. I am at this moment, surprisingly calm about it. my maiden voyage to a new city all by myself is a rite of passage that will help me grow into the woman that I want to be, no matter who stands opposing my decision. I've heard discouraging remarks from people close to me under a paper thin veiled guise of "concerned friend", and that is disturbingly puzzling. what could someone possibly get out of instilling doubt and discouraging another person you care for from pursuing their dreams? at any rate, as chris so succintly summed it up, "it's all part of the plan", and I'm more than prepared to play defense.

in other news, I'm undersexed. I found myself scraping smart balance on my english muffin this morning thinking of funny euphemisms for sex having to do with spreadable condiments. then I immediately realized that the sexiest thing to happen to me in weeks was watching my hot roommate mop the kitchen in his beavis and butthead boxer shorts from the dining room with my hair sticking askew in several directions while sipping on my morning coffee. I unconsciously slipped into a steamy pine sol reverie. "you missed a spot," I'd say, "right over there. lower. loooowerrr.... right there! yes! YES! YES! don't stop... mopping!!! my god, you could just eat off of it!"

come to think of it, it seems that the kitchen is making me hot. that sort of makes sense because food and sex are right up there with air and water, although it would seem that no one quite gets enough of the latter. and also, do roommate rules still apply if you're leaving the state in a month? would it really be so harmful to pass a note under his door demanding that he meet me in the laundry room with cool whip and a butt plug at midnight?

I'm going to have to steal the batteries out of the remote, again.

"I like to use 'I can't believe it's not butter' on my toast in the morning, because sometimes when I eat breakfast, I like to be incredulous. 'how was breakfast?' 'UNBELIEVABLE!'"

-demetri martin

chiquita

"then there was this law of life, so cruel and just, that we must change, or else pay more to remain the same."
-norman mailer, the deer park

tonight is one of the last nights at my treehouse. the streetlamps from the arco station are illuminating the disco ball in my window, casting a swirling mirrored mosaic, and rufus is perched tentatively in the windowsill. after spending nearly a year consistently petrified that he will indulge in a curious catlike impulse to jump, I find myself at peace. I will be the only one who is jumping, right now. my window is open and I'm almost ready.

I bought ramen out of necessity for the first time in 4 years this week, and it feels both uncomfortable and cathartic. delinquent notices and creditors are the only folks I'm receiving mail from, and I'm strangely peaceful about it. I'm present and I'm hopeful. times are tough but I am trying... giving up is not an option nor a trait that I was born with.

I am peeling the layers of unrest down off of me and I'm feeling like an undressed banana. pale and yellow, embarrassed, about to be eaten, et al. I haven't started packing but it will happen soon, getting all of my earthly possessions wrapped in newspaper and set gingerly into boxes, all part of the cyclical nature of never settling down. as it turns out, I'm better at watching people go than leaving.

the summer of masochism is over, and I imagine that I'll lick my wounds and reconfigure again. I'll remember who I was before I lived in the treehouse, and I'll realize who I am going to be. this chapter is closing, and bittersweetly at that. 23 hasn't held any guarantees, but I have not given up on the graces.

preparedness... it's such a double edged notion. a year ago, two years, three. there is no way to know how things will turn out, even despite careful planning and educated guesses. my energies are never focused on sure bets because I know that they are a pipe dream conjured up by religious fanatics. I am both infallible and shaky, at the mercy of fate and at my own. here I go, again.