Lost in Beaverton
So much for google maps and and my nagivational skillz. I spent a clear and cold Saturday afternoon with one eye on the road and the other on the chicken scratch that I apparently wrote to myself. I made my appointment. I was only an hour late.
When I got home I fell into the couch, held tight to the dog and wanted to fall asleep for an eon or so.
The newness, it's frustrating on so many levels. In San Francisco I always knew where I was, on any given corner I could have told you where the ocean was, where the bay lies, bridges and mountains, markers and milestones. These days when someone says to me, well X lies South of Powell, I have to locate Powell on my mental map and struggle not to transpose my San Francisco Powell, and then I have to track the sun in my head, and it takes up all sorts of capacity and I find myself beleaguered and begging for patience.
I have no idea where I am. I have a sense that at my brother's house, the river lies against my back bedroom window, more or less, but it's not like the ocean, those primordial currents that tug westward. I think I need to spend more time with maps.
In other news I bowled 158 the other night, in some sort of fluke of magesty I rolled four strikes and won a budweiser. I think there is some sort of resurgence of baby punks happening in Portland, I haven't seen hair quite so unyielding or pink since the eighties. Some baby punk skulked into the bar with an obviously filched wristband and tried to order a pitcher (in bowling shoes!!!) I had to admire the kid's chutzpa, of course he skulked out on the heels of a half muttered fuck you when the pitcher was (rudely) refused. Still it makes me a little sad to see these kids (shakes granny cane in indignation) regurgitating London circa 1984, but a little brighter and a perhaps more medicated and a lot more polished, no agenda to push, no soul to surrender (brandishes granny cane) as if I were any sort of authority, being a kid is hard, the world is wonderous and punishing, as if I had any authority, I am still astonished that anyone could consider me an adult.
but whatever. I start week two on Pill Hill tomorrow. There are jobs to be had, cities to be conquered, houses to be furnished, bus flirtations to be fucked.
So much for google maps and and my nagivational skillz. I spent a clear and cold Saturday afternoon with one eye on the road and the other on the chicken scratch that I apparently wrote to myself. I made my appointment. I was only an hour late.
When I got home I fell into the couch, held tight to the dog and wanted to fall asleep for an eon or so.
The newness, it's frustrating on so many levels. In San Francisco I always knew where I was, on any given corner I could have told you where the ocean was, where the bay lies, bridges and mountains, markers and milestones. These days when someone says to me, well X lies South of Powell, I have to locate Powell on my mental map and struggle not to transpose my San Francisco Powell, and then I have to track the sun in my head, and it takes up all sorts of capacity and I find myself beleaguered and begging for patience.
I have no idea where I am. I have a sense that at my brother's house, the river lies against my back bedroom window, more or less, but it's not like the ocean, those primordial currents that tug westward. I think I need to spend more time with maps.
In other news I bowled 158 the other night, in some sort of fluke of magesty I rolled four strikes and won a budweiser. I think there is some sort of resurgence of baby punks happening in Portland, I haven't seen hair quite so unyielding or pink since the eighties. Some baby punk skulked into the bar with an obviously filched wristband and tried to order a pitcher (in bowling shoes!!!) I had to admire the kid's chutzpa, of course he skulked out on the heels of a half muttered fuck you when the pitcher was (rudely) refused. Still it makes me a little sad to see these kids (shakes granny cane in indignation) regurgitating London circa 1984, but a little brighter and a perhaps more medicated and a lot more polished, no agenda to push, no soul to surrender (brandishes granny cane) as if I were any sort of authority, being a kid is hard, the world is wonderous and punishing, as if I had any authority, I am still astonished that anyone could consider me an adult.
but whatever. I start week two on Pill Hill tomorrow. There are jobs to be had, cities to be conquered, houses to be furnished, bus flirtations to be fucked.
posted by emma at
11:21 PM
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