In which a writer attempts to write.
Almost Christmas and I have no wishes. Everyone is asking everyone what they want for this most festive and celebrated of American holidays, and I have nothing to offer. Maybe a book. Maybe some socks. I'd like a dog. I'd like a lot of things. But nothing seems appropriate to ask for underneath a decorated tree. How about some eggnog. yes, that seems good. Thanks. Thank you for the eggnog.
I went to a bar last night. First time in awhile that I've had more than just a beer to drink. But the vodka was free and the Orthopedic Surgeons were celebrating their last day of surgery, and so the drinks flowed far. I talked to somebody, just standing there smoking a cigarette, and we struck up a converation. I told him about how the other night, me and some friends jumped into a bus and rode up to the errupting volcano. How we really wanted to hike it and see how close we could get.
He said that was ridiculous and why would I want to get that close to lava. I didn't understand his reticence. For me, death by volcano is a noble phrase for a tombstone. He did not agree.
I am slowly realizing things about myself. Different things about myself. Different wants, different desires. A willingness to travel harder, sleep less, laugh more, and cry easier. I think my life is more....how do you say. My English leaves me, all I have now is a word in spanish.
Everybody lives in a cocoon. Some people's cocoons are thicker than others. I think mine is a membrane. Vein thin and glowing red. gauzy and soft and not much of a shield. My friend, Fr. John, wrote these words to me yesterday. St Gregory of Nyssa: "Concepts create idols, only wonder grasps anything." I think I understand.
It's cold here. Surprisingly. I met up with my brother and we've spent the last hour wandering around Antigua trying to find me a toothbrush. According to Stephen, there's only one store here that sells toothbrushes. So on our journey, we decided to stop and internet, being as there are a million places to buy internet time.
Being back here is strange. It's reminding me of mylast trip, and at the same time, it's so totally different. I actually don't feel like I've gone anywhere special or exotic. I can tell that my surroundings have changed, but my mindset hasn't. That is making me think about things. Namely, my soul is stuck. But more on that later, or rather, more on that for myself. Not for you, dear blog.
Anyway. Antigua is still beautiful but I've got some searching to do. Will report back later with my findings.
1. Yes, please publish the link. Or at least, tell me where the pics are. I'd like to see them.
2. I voted today. Took a deep breath and hit the little green "Vote" button at the bottom of the box. Truth be told, the only thing I'm happy I did with the whole situation is the Against vote on the Wheel Tax hike.
3. I'm going to Guatemala on Friday. For a week. Just to hang out, you know, in the poor section of the world.
4. Am about to end a three year non-relationship. The other party does not know it's coming. Am very sad.
1. Toasted Everything bagel with thinly sliced proscuitto, organic cream cheese and capers.
2. Orange
3. Avocado wrapped in gouda
4. five Oreo cookies
5. two slices watermelon
6. scoop of tuna with carrots, celery, pickles, curry
7. half scoop chicken salad with red grapes, celery, curry, dill
8. three glasses iced tea
Time of day thus far...4:30pm
On Saturday, after learning that I was going to a Dvorak concert at TPAC with my grandmother to listen to a concert of American revivalists instead of going on a camping trip with friends and fun and food, I was, need it be said, not a little disappointed. But, I did my duty and attended the Nashville concerto crowd bracing myself for a slightly enjoyable evening. I should not have been so hasty to doubt. Mema and I dolled up for an evening out and I ended up more than enjoying the concert. To call the cellist remarkable would be a gross understatement. To say that the music was soothing and rousing and heart wrenching and inspiring would not be going too far. And after the concert ended at 11pm, and Mema decided that what she wanted most in the world right then was a Krispy Kreme donut, we cruised downtown Nashville and hunted down the glaze. Marvelous.
After a wonderful Saturday night I thought the weekend off to a good start. Sunday came and went without a glitch in the emotional radar. Monday happened though, and like all Mondays, I lost the slight sanity that I thought in my possession, evidenced by my midnight phoned in purchase of numerous flights to New York City and London for the following week. After watching four hours of Insomniac Theatre on MTV and talking to Roger, Claire, Mark and Denise from all four major competing airlines, I stumbled off to bed, bleary eyed from too much television radiation and too much thought. The restless sleep brought me only dream after dream, one involving the death of my brother by a friend's hand. I woke to a gorgeous Tuesday morning with no thought in my head other than, I Need Out.
I spent that beautiful day cruising about Franklin and Nashville in my brother’s Jeep Cherokee doing odd errands and visiting my mother. We talked for a long time about nothing too important and I realized, maybe for the first time, that as far as friends go, she is one of my closest. If nothing else, she is who I trust most in this world.
At five pm I hopped into the car once more, made an emergency salon appointment, went to dinner with my coffeeshop people, had a fabulous time and ate way too much sushi. At 9:30 pm, without telling a soul, I jumped back in my car and drove to Knoxville.
When I need out, I need out. I drove, on average, 92 mph, and made it to K-town in a record 1 hour 58 minutes. B was expecting me and when I pulled in to his driveway at midnight, he and John were there to greet with smiles and hugs. The evening and next day passed uneventfully. Restfully. Therapeutically. The conversation was lighthearted and fun, the friendship was full bodied, and I remembered what it was like to be free of myself. A cabin on the hillside, no phone tower within reach, tea and coffee and bananas and a screened in porch.
Sunset came and Yo La Tengo was playing at BlueCats. A Tomato Head pizza, number 7, was dinner and two dollar pint night helped start the evening off right. John and I planned a trip to South America for next August. Ran into an old flame. After two years of wondering, we made up. And when Tengo came onstage, the world stopped its rotation and I danced for joy.
Thursday morning dawned cold in the mountain air, the boys had school and I had to hit the road. But not before a leisurely conversation with John and then with Briton, whom I haven’t seen in years. I got on the road back to Nashville at noon and not even the traffic could dull my spirits. The trip home seemed to take no time at all and before I knew it, I was back on recently familiar roads.
Everybody needs to get away sometimes. Next trip, Guate in November.
1. A long exhale
2. fall colors
3. scarves
4. taking scarves out of the closet
5. the end of an era (season)
6. detailing my car {which is where I'm headed right now. more later...}
Seven years, seven days, seven hours. I took my chances. And she picked me up in the pretty pink wagon, declaring herself free from all those who are afraid. We took the transit, the train, the easy way home, full of laughter and fun. Easy Sunday afternoons filled the week and I never wondered why the seven years, seven days, seven hours flew by in a moment. The ease of friendship found itself harbored firmly within those wooden floors and black marble topped counters. Long winding conversations, punctuated by Reza’s runs and bike rides. There’s no place I could be without you, she said, and I felt the truth fall away by the sidewalk, next to the biodegradable Starbucks cup and a flyer advertising the neo-futureists. it’s easy to be here, don’t you think, she sucked down the last bit on her parliment and carelessly tossed the remainder into the street, to be swept away by the wind and rain.
All I want is some sunshine. Sunshine and tea. It’s easy enough to find those in any place other than here. And yet, the only place that I ever want them is here. In a cozy house with roommates and a dog, flourishing in the wake of successful youngsters, eating up their mac purchases with relish.
It’s easy enought to be easy in city like this. It’s easy enough to follow the pattern of the trains. In and out like the pigeons.
Brazil(ian)
First thoughts: Alien. Odd. Interesting. Sensual.
Final thoughts: Alien. Odd. Interesting. Rough.
I don’t know where to begin. Why is it so hard sometimes, to just exist. Why doesn’t life come with an instruction manual. Why can’t I just fucking write. Why why why. And the questions are never answered. Not answered and in fact, left up hanging, drying in the wind, scoffing and laughing at your futile attempts to catch them. Whatever. I’m done.
I often compare myself to a praying mantis. Long spindly knobby legs and arms. Large oddly shaped head. Bulging eyes. It resembles me. I resemble them.
A praying mantis just landed on my bag. Long irridescent green legs. red prayerful hands. glowing eyes. It was beautiful. Maybe...I? well, maybe it's just the music.
It's been said before but I'm going to say it again. Less eloquently. Instant gratification is not all it's cracked up to be. Rachel's therapist said as much the other day, and i take it to heart. the emails. the texting. the IMs...it's only served to create a high school-esque drama in a worls that was only meant to go one moment at a time. these days i live second by second. each punctuated by a dinging noise or vibrating buzzer of a cell phone. it's time to turn off. it's time to go back to the world of lonely long car rides with nothing but the sun in your eyes and loud music. i just sent an email. i don't know if i meant to hit the send button or if it was one of those things where i should really have written it out on a napkin and thrown it away. but it's done. it's sent. and that is that. i'm tired...i'm tired of writing. i'm tired of not writing. i hate words. i hate them so much because they fail me every time and i wish i was just a street musician in 1920s paris.
