Thursday, July 28, 2005

...is not complex

I was raised by an unscrupulous society of Hindus, was plunked almost unassisted into American culture at the age of 6, have been trying to figure it out since then. Doesn't everybody believe they are so complex as to be incomprehensible? Am I not? I stick my fingers into my own wounds and feel peerless, indulgent. Fucking Hare Krishnas.

But I don't feel this way right now. I feel exceedingly simple and easy to please.
Wiping the counters brings me great joy. My tiny cabin and tacky orange kitchen thrill me.

The lot we live on is big but it used to be huge. The landlord sold half of it off a few years ago and the people who bought it wheeled in a mobile home, went inside, closed the blinds and haven't come out since. Well, not unless they have to. The yard gets mowed but the weeds around the foundation are four feet high. I swear they wouldn't have windows if it wasn't code. They have a pool table in the living room and a small concrete patio they plunk their toddler on once and awhile so she can waive her arms around in the sun.

I like stories so I have filled in the details for myself. They met in a bar. He was a bar guy, she was half her weight, got knocked up, kept him home. Its a half-hearted, horizon-eyeing, keeping the backdoor unlocked kind of domesticity and one day he is gonna take off. I imagine thats how those things happen.

It is weird to be this same age that my parents were when they were making their impassioned decisions that so fundamentally defined my life, and to see those decisions being made from the point of view of uncertain yet well-intentioned adults. Maybe I give people too much credit. Bored, lazy, unstable... I don't know. If I had had any concept of frailty when I was a kid it wouldn't seem so astonishing to me now.

Not everyone is so charitable. I am not saying that I am. Its just that I like stories.

Dreamness

I had pigs, dead, killed, in clothing, arise from a bog to lay in a heap in my living room watching me with ghostpig eyes. They began wafting away and I thanked them for coming, closing the door behind them. CLARK WILL BE HOME SOON, SO BYEBYE NOW. They hadn't known I was alone and thought they would come back in with a new sinister-er look but I shut the door firmly. This I dream in black and white.

Then my brother and I were escaping from an evil kingdom by way of mist in hilly fields and fairy encampments on watery shores. This I dream in color.




But these were the pigs from my brothers wedding and the dreams were merely a coincidence.




The dreampigs were very creepy and didnt look anything like they were spit-roasted.







a pig in the hand


piggy


Wednesday, July 27, 2005

I need more grace then I thought

Went running in the heat of the day, 96 degrees. I discovered a secret gravel path, a single track that winds between backyard fences and tall grasses. I followed it until the weeds grew high, leaned in and the spiderwebs wove the way closed. Big spider webs, big fat spiders, big dreams about the worlds biggest fly. I was wearing just the right shade of green so I beat my way back out to the paved roads.

10.5 miles of coffee icecubes and how much I love running and how big a crush I have on my boyfriend today, and the psychology of individuality and the Stanford prison experiment and I think when I get home I am going to go buy a window thermometer and some ice cube trays and I am going to be sure to clean my hair out of the shower drain, water the house plants, clean my desk, eat blueberries, and hope there is still enough time for a nap before I have to leave for work. There wont be.


rubbed raw

When I got home I found I was bleeding all over my shirt. Chaffed boobs and sweaty and gritty and thirsty. Why cant I ever get anything done in a timely manner? I intended to lace up and leave at 9am but I dicked around reading blogs till noon.


worm-infested soul

Someone told me recently I need to quit thinking deep thoughts and go to charm school. This weeks pink toenails are dedicated to you!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Animal Life



Its hot today, yesterday, all weekend. We had our big summer party on Saturday.



-39 people
-9 kids
-2 BBQs
-1 firepit
-10 cases of beer
-17 cheerleader beers
-1 bottle of whiskey
-0 fights
-1 broken glass
-23 illegal fireworks
-1 drunk neighbor
-2 predictable political discussions
-1 predictable friend-of-a-friend jackass who drinks all your beer and dominates the conversation while trying to hit on all your girlfriends in a really disgusting manner. One of the last to leave, stuffing his pockets with unopened beer from the cooler.
-1 person not thrown in the fire in a demonstration of great restraint by yours truly
-1 satisfied dog, bloated with chicken, tofu dogs and watermelon rinds
-2 hot rods

XXXX *photo removed at the vehement request of subject* XXX

It was so all-American I feel weak.

=========================================

Monday while I was at work the neighbors dog got out of their fenced yard and fought Edison till a piece of his ear came off.



I say it is lucky I was not here cause I am a crier and way less diplomatic then my boyfriend. When I got home we wrapped him up and took him to the 24-hr Animal emergency room. Two shaved and shaking Scotty dogs went in before us with a nick on one of their legs. We had been there for two hours and they were seen in 10 minutes.
Its a matter of priorities they said.

Kitty-Kitty in room one had been attacked by a dog. Tissues and racking sobs.

Baby in room two was getting all fixed up. Mom in curlers under a scarf and her daughter waiting, patient and friendly.

A dog brought in on a gurney, wrapped in a blood-soaked sheet and plastic. Black lab, black eyes looking around as they wheeled her in, $400-500 just to try to stabilize her. SHE'S LED A GOOD LIFE the husband whispered to his crying wife. Its not a fun place.

At midnight they said it was probably another hour before they saw us so we went home. Its not a big piece of ear but its a bleedy piece so Edison is at the vet today getting fixed up with an estimated medical bill of $200.

The neighbor already knows he will be paying it. He is lucky if I don't file a report. I am superpissed cause in the last ten years my dogs have been attacked three times, unprovoked and out of the attackers territory and all three times the dogs have been pit bulls. I hate pit bulls. They are dangerous dogs, I don't care what anybody says.

I know there are nice pit bulls out there, cause I have met them but I would never trust them.

When my ex-boyfriend and I lived on the Oregon Coast we had a couple friends from Seattle who came down for the weekend once and awhile. They brought their two dogs... one, a young pit bull female. She is a very sweet dog but in the middle of the night if you were moving around she had a completely different, very threatening demeanor. They warned us she would kill our cats if she saw them... BUT SHE IS SO SWEET, SHE WOULDN'T HURT A FLY. PEOPLE WHO SAY PIT BULLS ARE DANGEROUS ARE FULL OF SHIT. Whatever.

I am gonna take your word on it when there is a kid and a dog and a cat and ourselves wanting to be safe in our yard??

Thursday, July 21, 2005

I had enough tact to not run for the camera as the toilet flushed

I was watering my plants this morning and discovered the upturned body of my fish, Tsunami. Sigh.

I think I killed him by putting him in the sunny window. I thought he was depressed and would maybe like to see the world go by instead of watching dust collect on top of the refridgerator.

I have killed other fish. I killed a fish when I was 10 cause I thought he was cold, and put him in a nice warm bowl of water. He died in minutes.

This is nothing new for me, but the pain never lessens.

Better times...

Rest In Peace

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

I want a day

I woke up with an upturned boulder for a head, rollie-pollies on my cheek, flinty and heavier then hell. Struggling with sleep disorders, it actually hurts me to wake up in the morning. I don't even wake up till midnight. I have a 7 to 4 boyfriend. I have to get back to using that goddamn light box. It vents out ionized air like right before a thunderclap. Titillating!

Nevada was so hot. SO HOT. They tried to tell me it was a Nevadan Heat Wave. Can you imagine such a thing?? A heat wave in the desert?

And DRY. My eyeballs were the first to go.

I was there for the Juniper Creek Writers Conference. I wrote a metaphor and a bean burrito story. I watched writers, I looked at their writer shoes and their writer hairdo's, the bridge of their writer noses and wonder what do they write?? How do they write it? I have never been in the company of so many self-identified writers.

This is what I have come up with.
-heros are unlucky people
-poets should spend more time making bland, factual statements.
-i hate the words "deeper level"
-my hopes are always hanging on a miracle cause i am a lazy bastard
-nevada has a lot of women walking around with only about an inch between the bra strap around her ribcage and her belt. they like casinos.
-i am a cliche of myself
-i'm like, five feet taller then my mom.
-she has a nice life in Nevada and everybody loves her.
-she will probably never come back to Oregon now.
-the surface area of photographic representation is equally balanced among myself and my siblings.
-i am a little chagrined.

And home again... summer has finally come to Portland!

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Oh comely, know all your enemies

Sometimes endurance sports get really primal and grunty and you search your lizard brain for a reason why. WHYWHYWHYWHY!

Inbetween just feel like I have too much time on my hands and am wasting it with gratuitous guilt and anxiety. It has stayed cool and temperate, nonthreatening here under white pearly clouds... for months now. It affects the psychology of SUMMER. This is not the kind of summer you'd write a pop song about.

I haven't called anybody for, like, a year. I found out last night that my friends are getting divorced, been hospitalized, have moved, everything changes. I feel so left out and useless. I was supposed to be there. My memories feel loose and flimsy like gauzy curtains. I am breezy and insubstantial. You could probably put your hand right through me.

Last night I dreamed I had a robot friend/bodyguard, I was kidnapped cause I must have been veryimportant and we were being kept in a house, under a forcefield by the seashore. We had little robot friends who became robot houseflies so as to enter the forcefield... I mean, who suspects a housefly? It was very Rocky and Fumble, very Hernandez.

Tomorrow morning at 5am I am flying to Nevada. It will be hot. I hope it is hot enough that I will get pop songs stuck in my head. My mother ran to the store yesterday to stock up on wasabi peas so it promises to be a good visit.




Yesterday I hacked weeds and blackberries. Another one of my dahlias has come up. I had long ago given them up for microbe food but one by one they have broken the surface.


safe from marauders

Out back behind the shed I found buried dog toys. If Edison gets something too good he gets nervous, doesn't want you to have it, might lose it, must bury it.. I found a beaver hand-puppet back there half buried in pine needles. It was a joyous reunion.


Bicycle Fever



Long ass ride. It didn't feel so bad when this picture was taken, only a hunnert miles in, cozy and perky and ready for day two.

It drizzled on day two. Got harder and harder to get back in the saddle. The ride ended under flags and cheers and bubbleblowing wellwishers. Muggy and salty and gummy and lactic-acidic and sososo ready to get out of those bike clothes.




My numbers are not as good as last year... averages, ride times, max speeds, all that. It has been a long sedentary school year. I accidentally reset my computer after 130 miles so I don't have any accurate stats anyway. So I thought I would give you some generic stats instead.

# Total distance (miles) 202.25
# Uphill distance (miles) 30.87
# Uphill altitude (feet) 1,951
# Maximum altitude (feet) 463

I wonder about the unicyclist and the two boys on big wheels. What was their ride like?

Friday, July 08, 2005

Seattle to Portland Pt.2

We are leaving for the STP in one half hour, under creamy white skies. Is it going to rain? I packed three pairs of shoes... bike shoes, sneaks and flipflops.

The taxi will be here in a half hour, and dump us out at the hotel where the busses are loading exactly one hour and fifteen minutes before we need to be there. It wasnt a battle worth fighting. I have said I told you so so many times I decided one more time wouldnt hurt. WinkWink Dad!

I have spare tubes and and a brand new STP jersey. The race packet was sparse this year. A jacket, a map, a water bottle, some body lube, a couple advertisements, and ride numbers. Last year we got drugs and tools and first aid kits and food and those little RideStrong bracelets and all kinds of stuff. Havent gotten a good race packet yet this year.

We ran the Fourth of July six mile race in Ashland on Monday. John and Anita had BRIDE and GROOM written on the back of their shirts and smoked the course finishing almost ten minutes before me. Good kids. I would have taken pictures but I locked my keys in my car.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

I Am An Awful Terrible Person, Part 852

You know, I don't like slugs. I dislike slugs a lot. I am actually terrified of slugs and they make me want to cry. I have cried. Do cry.

Tonight I came home from the night I didn't want it to be and was not too happy cause I wanted to have the fun I didn't have and the path not taken and other summer breezy things that come wafting into short-sleeved conversation. I was standing on the back porch and I looked down to see two medium/large (Oregon sizes) slugs cannibalizing the corpse of their friend or lover, one taken by the heat.

Born wicked and steely, I grabbed the salt shaker and doused them. They writhed every which way in agonizing pain, elongated, withdrew, stretched to the skies with their skinny antennae, looked to all the horizons for some sense of WHAT? WHY?

I feel sick. I can't believe I just did that. I wonder if you can perform emergency services on a slug. I mean, I wouldn't do it... give a slug CPR... but I wonder if there is a point-of-no-return, like if I salted a slug but had a can of water close by. Can you undo a lethal salting?

Could I have salted them, gotten the rot outta me and still saved them?




I am such a jerk.

I salted a slug once before. One time. It was a different kind of slug and it bubbled yellow. It was on the wall in the shower and slid all the way down to the tub. Probably screaming. I was 10 years old at the time.

At that time, age 10, we lived in the crappiest house in the richest town in the whole damn state. Unofficially. The bathroom floor was secretly rotted out (plus it had no door) and the slugs snuck into the bathroom and scared the soul out of me. I think that explains everything that has gone wrong since.

Long story... short story... I moved up in the world. I have a boyfriend who can lay linoleum now. Am still soulless... but of all the rotten things that it makes me capable of, I have never (despite my deepest hatred of slugs) been able to salt another one since then. Till now.

I really feel horrible. Can you see all the grains of the salt storm?

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Summer BuzzBuzz

I had a long crazy perfectly executed weekend of weddings, family, friends, road races, parades, gazillion photographs, mountain lakes, beers and a few card games. Left 3.5 seconds before it might have stopped being fun. Just got home last night with one ounce of energy left.

Most of the plurals are actually singular. A wedding. A race. A parade, one lake.

Now I have a couple short days to prepare for the STP. Its that time of year again!

Friday, July 01, 2005

Good to go

Am leaving for my brothers wedding now with no less then seven pairs of shoes. Thats 2.33 shoes per day!

Yesterday was hot and I wasted time till the hottest part of the afternoon to go running. (I dont know whats wrong with me lately but I drag my feet about everything).
After about 4.5 miles I ran past some kids selling lemonade. They asked if I was hot and insisted that I take some lemonade free after I told them that I had no money. I was sweaty and really touched and promised I would be back. They were gone, so now I have the karmic burden of a cup of lemonade on a hot day. If you come across me and you are thirsty let me know.

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