Saturday, September 16, 2006


22 miles. Through SE Portland, Sellwood, up Clinton to 39th, to Stark, to 20th, to Hawthorne, to 11th, to Clay, to Water, to the East Bank Esplanade, across the Steel Bridge, down Waterfront Park, up Salmon street, to 1st Ave, all the way up Corbett, to Iowa, to Virginia, to Taylors Ferry, to Macadam, across the Sellwood Bridge, to 11th, to Linn, to 17th and the rest of the way...

For the entire run my dad rode along side me and carried water, Cytomax, and a little respect. I am so devious, and in my Evil plan to pull every single person I love closer and closer and closer so I can live in a courtyard, raise my glass and make eye contact with any one of all my loved ones, I hoped doubly that our tour of Portland would infatuate him with the city and he would finally agree to move here so that I may finally move on to recruiting the next persons on my list.

Back home we ate pasta and popsicles, took the canoe out to Sauvie Island. They flung hooks around like fishing and ate Cheetos. We stayed till the sun went down.

I am not a bootstrap girl. I disdain the bootstrap philosophy. I am, by contrast, more of a bee in a bee hive. I would never dare to take credit for the things I have done. It would be the height of arrogance to assume I am all the grit I am made of.

There is nothing, not one thing, I can take wholesale credit for. Even the things I have done in solitude, they are mere surface activity on a life built by the sweat and pain of those who love and tolerate me.

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