maybe we're pulling out of it. after 27, then 7 more days, maybe it's not ridiculous to expect to wake up to light peaking through curtains and blinds promising a day of dry shoes and shadows. maybe the luminosity will push me up hills and weave me through traffic on my bike with lightness and agility and my mind will follow course, past obstacles, through and around bottlenecks and thoughts threatening to careen into my posi path knocking me off course or worse, causing injury.
today is tuesday, january 24, my dad turned 65 yesterday, I have roughly that many days until I move out of Seattle after living here for 11 years, and I think I'm on a weather, memory, and therapy influenced roller coaster ride.
I'm not sure who will read this, the point is mainly for me to write instead of continually processing my ever changing emotions with poor, unsuspecting, and less SAD susceptible friends and loved ones. And maybe also share with the ones on the roller coaster with me or on their own. Also, to remember how to write. things besides emails. and IM's. and the occasional internetworking profiles. and to do lists.
[remember when I used to love to write? think i would be a writer? wrote poems and occasionally even read at an open mic. about sad things and about the ocean? about homelessness and about the sound of my alarm clock like a truck backing up into my pillow to wake me up? why didn't my loving friends just tell me, enough's enough?]
I cried three times unexpectedly this week. First time was when a co-worker told me I was a role model for her and she wanted to carry on my vision at Vera. I don't know if it was the weight of the compliment, the realization that I had worked hard enough that someone might look up to me, or the worry that I didn't really live up to it. Afterwards, I walked towards Tyler's house in the rain romanticizing the patterns of florescent lights left on at night in the skyscrapers in the lit up downtown sky, and the 4687 times I had walked on that sidewalk. Second time was at a cast party after the closing night of a dance performance I was in. Everything was close to the surface and I was melting in the corner feeling at once unwilling to let go of years of artistic relationships and feeling disconnected at the same time.
[Does that happen everywhere? In every scene? Is there a perfect amount of time to be there? Can you be in one place too long? or does it just continually go in cycles of seeming perfect and then dissatisfying? Does everything go in cycles like that no matter where you are, what you are doing, or if you kissing the exactly perfect or wrong person for you?]
third time, well it's more than three actually. maybe it's more of the same reasons behind the many little leaks. people, moments, phrases, routines, smells (even the urine in the doorway at Vera and the stale vanilla candle smell in my room) are so precious right now. it is like the richest colors against the drabbest cloudy sky and awkward sentences, sad eyes, or the usual not so perfect social interactions unhinge a well of regrets and a well of appreciation or just a well with a lot of things in it. If it sounds crazy, it's because it is a little.
[and maybe i stopped writing because it comes out so sad]
But it's not always the sad crying. That's not all that's in there [although if my ass gets wet riding my bike 3 times in one day again, i will probably make it all sound that way] A sixteen year old boy can cover a jawbreaker song and dedicate it to me and be in the community music space I wanted so badly to create and it's there. It's real. It's all black and cold and it has lots of random unintegrated stencils on the wall, but it's there. And I can still stand on one leg and balance and turn and jump on the other. And I can imagine a gust of wind and then feel my spine move like molecules rather than bones. And i can feel music on my skin and hear other people's talents singing like bells and think it is all perfect and beautiful. And this is the part when you're rushing over the crest of the hill and falling down the slope and trying to take it all, all, all in and it's too much, and it's too fast. and it's crying because you're so freakin happy you can't believe it and you just hope that people don't think you're a weirdo because you're always crying.
welcome to my silly little blog.