Unrecognizable to myself

There I am buying expensive jeans on my lady of leisure non salary. I am not sure why I make this purchase, but I do.

Here I am buried under two pashminas because it is bloody cold out.

There I am on the sidewalk, talking to home while the rain is pouring down, I have a hat on and gloves, and the hood on my rain coat is flipped up. Have I mentioned how much I hate to have my ears covered, but it's freezing to my californian self and I have relented to wearing a hat. Here I am bitching about the climate on teh internets after such an extended absence, plenty of souls dwell in colder climates afflicted with long bouts of ice and snow, I should really shut the fuck up, hello Montreal denizens!

It's just like anything else, familiarity dons it's appropriate accessories, and I don't have any. I don't have suitable clothes for this climate, and my hair is in need of coloring and cutting, and I am profoundly lonely.

That said I am making friends and meeting really, really lovely people....

And *knocks wood* I think I have bought a house -- details to come possibly, but I am determined not to jinx it, likewise the job I am waiting on.

But jesus, I am tired of being aimless, I need a routine, I need something I can cleave to. I love my brother and bellesoeur to pieces but living with them just delineates the starkness of my aloneness, of my apartness, I think I have lived alone for too long and I can't wait to retreat back to that. It sort of breaks my heart to know that about myself, it sort of breaks my heart that I wake up in the morning and am surprised that no one is there, either.

No one ever said that this was going to be some glorious walk in the park, nobody ever said that it was going to be mad inexpensive to buy a house, sure housing is affordable here, but thanks to the collapse of the sub prime market obtaining a reasonable mortgage is like smoking a fucking rainbow, fuck you Alan Greenspan and fuck you too Countrywide and all the rest of you colossal assholes and your fucking billion dollar write downs....... oh but enough about the flagging economy, the chips will fall where they may, I'll try and be thankful for my reasonable good health, I'll try and be grateful period. I can't go home, I don't have one. I am like a shark in an acquarium, swimming in circles, riding my own wake, becoming increasingly wrathful with each circle, my patience with this little enterprise is waning, I am inclined to start ramming against the glass.

maybe this week will yield some results, if not this week, maybe next week.

where the interstitial meets the wave

I sit for a long while in front of this blank page, sort of page, with pixels and images and guides, I sit against the dark back drop of an unlit kitchen, trying to pin a concise thought down in my agitated brain, searching for a pithy word or a delicate nuance, while Frere and Bellesoeur soak in the hot tub and I still haven't taken off my coat.

we came home from pinball and pool last night and drank light beer in the hot tub as the rain came down, it was some sort of magic. Can you possibly guess which of the statements in the above I thought I'd never utter. Light Beer. Things Fucking Change.

Names and faces swirl, names and faces blur.

I woke in a panic the other morning because I realized my potential house (knocks wood) has no closet space. I had been dreaming about being under water, tailed by a great white shark, I had turned so that I wouldn't see the inevitable attack. I woke up and though I wasn't disoriented, I wondered aloud what the hell am I doing here, what the hell have I done, as I stumble through the day without any specific routine to serve as a fundamental foundation, I know myself to be almost scarily malleable, but christ almighty, this is fucking nuts.

and yet.

and yet, I went with my new friends to the farmer's market at the crack of dawn, nearly, ok, it was nine. My new friends and their beautiful girl L. Dragonfly and it was a beautiful morning in Portland, the sun was shining wanly, but the day was full of welcome. I bought a bunch of things on strange whims, braising greens because they were beautiful, some local hard cider because I liked the bottle, rillettes, well porky goodness is irresistable, three pints of the best strawberries I have ever tasted, even going so far as to wager that they might trump the wild strawberries from the Dordogne - ok - pushing it, but still, fucking awesome.

I walked a mile in the rain to get to a bar last night, I had on my rain coat and flipped up the hood and found the walk to be less antagonistic than I would have thought. Maybe my San Francisco skin yields better to this new city than I could have anticipated.

This morning after the market, I went exploring, pulled along by the dog. At some point I realized that I was wildly happy, tromping through the leaves, admiring houses and trees, all of these alien structures and narrow streets with round abouts that we couldn't make fly in San Francisco, the absence of people on sidewalks, but mostly all of the autumn colors turning to mulch on the sidewalks and in the gutters, just walking and walking and walking, I knew that I had made the right decision. The house (knocks wood) will work if it's meant to, the job will work if it's meant to. I'll meet people, I might even make real friends, I think I already have.

Next internets, you will see me farting rainbows and falling in love, anything is possible, just you wait.

The Good and The Bad

It gets tempered in the end, in the end it's all a wash.

The Runner ran out of the picture, but I put an offer on a bungalow and it's been accepted.

I had a really promising interview, and I am holding my breath.

My brother sent me out to rent the first disc of Battlestar Galactica, and I trundled down to open an account, and the lady was super nice and blah, blah, blah.

I parked the car, have I mentioned how very dark here it is, I opened my door and BAM. My worst nightmare, the sound of metal buckling, I was confused, I was frightened.

A cyclist plowed into me, I didn't see him and he didn't see me, when my faculties were coralled all I saw was a man draped over my door and I was sure I had just lived my worst nightmare, I'd killed a man over a DVD.

My car is hurt worse than he, I'm grateful for it. I'd rather swing into my vehicle all Dukes of Hazard like than worry that I had injured a father or a husband, or even just a man.

It's only material. It's only material.

if you are out there and you are rooting for me, the licks I can take, I expect as much, but keep your fingers and your toes crossed, that this man is unharmed, that my future home with the veranda will pass inspection, that escrow will proceed, that these lovely people at this lovely little company will decide that I am the best fit. That the economy will not collapse, that we are safe in our states and in our States, that our families are safe, even if my father is suffering from some Inca bug in Lima, that we hold tight to our friends, that we hold tight in general, making allowances for breath and wonderment.

since my shoulders are hitched up to my earlobes I am going to warm them in the bath.