tears in the typing pool

my words won't suffice, but a song always does.

succumb to the line
the finishing time
the long distance runner
has stopped on the corner
but i won't give up
although i've stopped too

before the end of me and you
the patchwork explains
the land is unchanged

interpret the rooms
my tears in the typing pool
the letters are sighing
the ink is still drying
I told you the truth
and now i sigh too

the page turns on me and you
across that white plain
the land is unchanged

it's quiet. I'm wet from my first hot bath in over a year at a place I call home, tangled blonde hairs plastered to my forehead and swaddled in down comforter's comfort. the candles are extinguished and I'm surrounded by brown boxes whose contents seem to mean less and less. the places I've been have molded me into who I am, but they do not belong to me, nor do they hold me down. I have photographs and movie ticket stubs and stories scrawled across cocktail napkins from dive bars across the continental US, and I have memories that shine so brightly they have no choice but to burn out into ephemera. I've got bruises and scars and war stories. I've also got every reason not to take everything for granted.

alone again, I am feeling as if I've woken up from a yearlong dream. defeat gave way for release.

lawd have mercy, free at last

the cat seems more comfortable here than I do, already. I know it's only that I am the finicky, suspicious one of the two of us, but it's going to take me a couple of days to get settled. (this plan entails several bubble baths in my fabulous new claw foot tub.) I woke up at 4am because of the absence of familiar street noise, and then at 6 when the sun began rising I padded around the house in a t-shirt and my underwear in the grey light, investigating my new amenities. all that's left of my belongings at treehouse are my wallstuffs which I plan on retrieving later, and then I'll be gone for good. gone for good to 5 blocks away, but gone nonetheless. it's a charming prospect that the likelihood of ever running into constance in my kitchen has been nearly obliterated (though I am not ignorant to the ways of the small world), and that I will hopefully soon regain knowledge of what it's like to sleep 8 hours, bathe, and go about my business in a productive manner. jon is toxic, and elvis has left the wasteland.

my first treehouse photo, morning after the housewarming





and the last... RIP treehouse.

half battles

thank god I scored an attivan from my mother last week.

today I was supposed to make the move into the new place and when I arrived with the first truckload of my junk, including my mattress and bed frame, I was greeted by my new room with a surprise. my new room is still somebody's old room, and they have not started packing. ahhh ha. so, I schlepped half of my belongings over and they are all piled up in the living room, and I suppose the rest will go on tuesday after my predecessor has vacated the premises. it's not really that big of a problem, but it's a bit of an inconvenience not to have a bed for two nights, and using my room as a locker with a shower attached to it. I can't say I haven't dealt with tighter spots, namely my month and a half of couch surfing I did in 2006, but god damnit, I wish that things could be a little simpler to help me get through this already jarring experience of having to mourn a relationship and a household in the most sane fashion possible. (not to say that rational behavior is a characteristic I regularly exemplify, but, a girl can dream.)

there are parties all over the city today, zoe's new abode, sloshball in the park, adachi's barbeque, and then french miami tonight at the 'burgh. I just want to sleep until tuesday, and then sit in my new claw foot tub directly adjacent to a raging sage bonfire with aromatherapy bubbles up to my neck until I'm prunier than fucking yoda and there's not a bad vibe on the block.

hanging on, hanging in there, hanging out there... hanging.

let them eat cake.

I was hoping not to have to leave angry, but I've just had it. the tipping point is nigh. I lived with the cheating, I spent a summer where my own house was equated with panic attacks and misery, and I will NOT be the other woman to the original other woman. no thanks. go sell ginger somewhere else. I have developed an allergy to beta carotine and being treated like crap.

october holds:

-painting project. I am going to paint my new room! as of yet, the idea is pink with gold trim, a la coppola's marie antoinette.

-cooking. I just packed up two giant boxes of kitchen shit that I have hardly touched the entire time I've lived here. it can't be that hard to chop suey some vegetables and bake a scrumptious casserole, and I have been eating out at least once a day for a year. that is a LOT of moolah to be frivolously dropping on designer paninis, and I want to travel this winter and next spring.

-housewarming party. it will be mid-month after I'm done with the painting and am all settled in... cupcake dresses encouraged, champagne recommended, devil-may-care attitude required.

-trip to LA with lyds and the wyfe/bad ass photoshoot at the madonna inn. zing!

-revival of the cell phone project. my goal is to have knocked out two letters a week.

-mcsweeney's. I am ending the brief hiatus on my internship. ready to rumble with the creative weirdos, again!

-digital camera. I am on the market for one, if anyone is looking to sell. otherwise I'm going to shake down on craigslist and see what I can rustle up. less hulu, more art. less bullshit, more positive thoughts.

ps. fuck mercury. does that shit EVER go out of retrograde?

you fucked with the wrong taurus.

now, I'm pissed.

already gone

why is this the hardest part?

there are no Ps and Qs for such a situation.

I've never anticipated an october more. I'm saying when.

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.

basking in the warmth of burning bridges

I had the weirdest fucking nightmares last night. somehow, the tyrannical transgendered chef from the show it's always sunny in philidelphia drove me out of my new house that I'm about to move into by verbally abusing me and force feeding me msg powder from packages of ramen. (no more hulu before bed.) I woke up mildly disturbed at about 10 and watched political newscasts on cnn with rob while enjoying a giant bowl of honey bunches of oats, and my new landlord called to let me know my credit check had been approved, and also that my old landlord, leila, had nothing but kind and cheerful things to say about me in reference. I was mildly surprised to hear as such, as I've only actually met her once, but our only exchange was an evening spent downstairs at madrone that ended with me offering to spoon her. she politely declined, but it seems as if a little willingness to spoon goes a long way.

I still am waking up every morning feeling like I've been hit by a truck, but I've got hope. 9 days left. speaking of trucks, does anyone know someone who has one?



anything big enough to move a twin mattress would rule my world.