Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
social obligations
The date with (C) was a bust for the most part. He's very cute, very sweet, and not very interested in me. Have I already written about this? I feel like I have. Maybe I haven't blogged about it. I hope not. That would seem obsessive, and I'm really not obsessive, or don't like to see myself that way. That was last Wednesday. I had a little cry over it; nothing big, just a little flushing, and I felt better, and feel better.
Wednesday was kind of a weird double-whammy on the emotions. Wednesday evening was my second improv class at the new place. It's a level one class. I've taken a couple of each level up to level three, but I wanted to get a different perspective, expand my improv knowledge. I mentioned it to T and she approved wholeheartedly. (It's weird, it felt like a confession. I had mentioned it to a few people in the community randomly and hadn't mentioned it to her, so I felt like I had to make a point of telling her, which I guess is why it felt like a confession. But anyway...)
The teacher is a nice guy, if a little clueless. Or at least it feels that way to me. I don't want to make a deal about it, but there were a couple of things that got under my skin. Which makes me thankful that I'm back in therapy - twice a month. The first class, he made a completely innocent comment about the fact that we plan what we're going to do before we go on stage based on fear, wanting to be accepted, cool, funny, "attractive to the opposite sex so we can procreate." Maybe it sounds a little biblical, now that I write it out. I just had a feeling of "he doesn't mean me, he doesn't 'accept' me." I'm really not all that political about identity, but my religious and suppressive upbringing kind of makes it similar to a political feeling. Now that I write it out.
Anyway, so I had therapy the next day, and I was able to get over it, whatever that means. Truly, I'm only bringing it up because I'm writing about it. It's been so long ago now, the fact that I haven't written about it yet should point to the fact that it's not all that important to me. Same as with the date. I'm a little buzzed so I'm feeling eloquent, in the movingly expressive sense of the word.
In the more recent class, the second class of the six-week session, the class that followed soon after the date, the teacher told everyone to find the person they felt had the most in common with them. I went to the big dyke with the piercings and black rock T-shirt on. We were instructed to find three things we had in common. We both had spacers in our ears (mine a "2," hers an "0," which is bigger, natch), so I pointed that out. Then I said, "And we're both gay." It seemed to take her by surprise. Maybe I'm projecting. She said, "What?" I said, "You're gay, right?" She said, "Oh-- yeah," which sounded like she hadn't heard me the first time. Maybe I slurred it out nervously. I have a tendency to do that. The dreaded G word. But I'm facing it, I'm getting closer to an understanding, I think, slowly but surely, one day at a time, sweet Jesus...
We then had to choose the most interesting thing and write that on a strip of paper the teacher had passed out while we were all rumbling in our two-person teams. He said, "Not the most obvious thing; something that would make everybody in the room go, 'Ooh!'"
My partner said, "What do I write, 'We're both gay?'" I said, "Put 'We're both homos.'" Which she did after a smirk.
The strips of paper were put away and forgot about for the rest of class - almost forgotten completely. As we were about to leave, the teacher stopped us and said he had to read them. Everyone froze. They were probably all wondering if what they had written was good enough, I know I was. Had I tricked this poor 20-something into doing something she wasn't comfortable with? Or did the notion that we needed to point it out seem unnecessary to her? That could be the case, I guess, if she believed there was no need for distinction other than a way of dressing, if the need to define yourself publicly was/is passé.
What am I even writing? Did I say I was buzzed. Have you seen those billboards that say Buzzed Driving Is Drunk Driving? Well, Buzzed Writing Is Drunk Writing, Too, then. But I'm not so much drunk as I'm high. Not drunk at all, actually. I didn't have enough money for a beer tonight. I was at a film party at the Art Alliance or Art Authority or The Place Next to Spiderhouse - whatever they're calling it these days. I digress.
The improv teacher read through all of the strips of paper, some interesting, some funny, some just fine. "We're both homos." was the very last one. When he read it, he stopped on the word "homo" and read it carefully, then said coyly, "Well, okay, that may be true-- And that would be okay..."
It doesn't seem like much. It didn't seem like much when it happened. I felt a weirdness in my center. My partner didn't seem to react, and everybody else just kind of laughed or ignored it, as with the others. When I mentioned it to S and others, though, I started feeling a little more isolated by the experience. It drives me crazy that I can't see these things in the moment, can't work with them. I know, I know, recognizing it at all is a step in that direction (Thank you, Pëma).
I had therapy the next morning, and when I told the story to L, he stopped me a ways down the path and said, "I'm sorry. As a straight man, I didn't even realize that was what you were saying." I love L, he's a wonderful therapist. What he said made me realize what I suspected: A doesn't even realize it; he is speaking only from his own experience. That's good to know, but it may make me judge his teaching efforts differently. I hope this isn't truly the case.
Thursday, I took S to the airport and he flew off to NYC for forever (not really, he's back on September 20th, driving back from Indiana in the car his parents are giving him). I'm going to NYC on the 9th and his rock opera (I guess that's what it's called) Lizzie Borden opens on the 10th, and I'm gonna get to see it!
I didn't do a lot else on Thursday or Friday. I had a barometric pressure headache (I don't know if that's a clinical term or my own); I get them sometimes when rain is coming. It feels like a hangover and/or a minor migraine. Sometimes the migraines get full-blown, but this one didn't. I felt feverish. And then I realized that my window unit was frozen over and blowing outside air in, and it was in the triple-digits! The rain came at some point in the afternoon, and amazingly, the headache all but disappeared.
I was thinking about going to see a movie on Thursday evening, but the a/c episode butted into my schedule. The foam over the cooling intake part of the a/c had frozen to the iced over ribs, and in trying to remove it, I pulled a hole shaped like Africa about 2 x 3" big. So I was thinking I needed to get a new one of those. I also needed to go to the store for candies, and it was almost time for the stores to close. I carried the foam thing to Home Depot, and they didn't have anything like it! Then I went to Target (because I had to go there for the candies anyway) and carried the muddy foam thing in with me in case they had one. They did not.
I needed the candies - mini Snickers, Twix, 3 Musketeers, etc. - for a Christmas Tree I was making for T's surprise birthday party (with a Christmas theme!) on Friday evening. I popped popcorn on Wednesday and it sat in my room getting stale, which I eventually told myself I intended. Friday morning I strung two strands (12 feet maybe) of popcorn and mini candies. It was quite lovely. The tree I got last weekend at a garage sale; it's a 4-foot tall fiber optic tree, so it didn't need lights. S&E put up other Christmassy decorations and the three of us made collage cards for T. I wish I had taken a picture of mine.
C had no real plan for getting T to the theater after their show at the Hideout. They were heading to East Side Pies, she thought, then somebody in the car said, "Let's go to the theater and drop off these fliers." T is easygoing, she said, "Sure." She was the one with the key at the door; I stood peeking out of the door curtain after we got the text. I saw her arriving, shushed everyone. The door was unlocked, so when she turned her key in the door, she thought it had finally happened, they had gotten broken into. She had a quick succession of dreadful thoughts - We don't have insurance; they took all our shit! - and she turned to run away, not wanting to go inside in case the bad guys were still in there. C grabbed her and pushed her into the room; she stumbled onto the stage and fell laughing. It was the best party she's had in years.
Last night I saw my friend M at Cafe Caffeine doing a monologue (with several other good storytellers) on the theme of "Clerks." M's bit was very funny, as was another guy, who read a story about a fat kid (him) trying to slide a 64-ounce Coke across a movie theater countertop Western movie style, only to hurl it onto its side sending sticky liquid flying on everyone in the lobby except him. I had tears flowing!
After that, I went to S's regular hangout, the Chain Drive. I've gone there a few times, but I'm not much of a bar person, and the times I've gone haven't been with S, and I've had some social anxiety issues there. But I got a notion to text S's friend G and see if he would be there. That was where S met G, I'm pretty sure. He indeed was going and we met up after the show. It was nice getting to know him a little better, as well as D, his ex-boyfriend best friend, who showed up. A weird thing happened, though. There was an attractive guy possibly looking at me, "cruising me," as it were. (He could have been cruising G, but I'm pretty sure we were making eye contact.) G was content to just sit there and chat with me, and I was trying to decide if it was rude to excuse myself to talk to a stranger. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that. I don't think he would have considered it rude. D did that very thing when he showed up and the three of us were talking.
The young man went inside and back out a few times, and when G, D and I were talking, I was thinking to myself that that would be a good time to excuse myself and make my feeble attempts. But I couldn't figure out the wording for it. So I just became anxious and eventually had to leave. I did do one "Fruit Loop" as D called it (a walk around the square bar with the seating lining the walls opposite it). It was during my Fruit Loop that I realized my potential suitor had left, so when I returned to G and D, I told them that I had decided to do a "Fruity Pebbles" and "rock out!" (Weird, I know.)
Today was Sunday. I started working on some minor revisions to my manuscript - woo-hoo! At 5 I had book club at BookPeople, this month discussing J. M. Coetzee's Nobel Prize winning novel, Disgrace (Wow.), but I left the house at 2 and stopped by P.Terry's for a #5 and a double-chocolate shake. That was good, of course, the book club was good. After that I met up with M at Spiderhouse to hang out before HomoScope, the film party that was going on at the place next to there. There were a lot of really weird but pretty interesting films. I saw a number of people I knew and so felt socially relaxed. I snuck out in the middle of the after party right after telling someone I wasn't going home, that I was just going to my truck, which was the truth, because I was thinking I would roll a cigarette and go back to the party and join them where they were all smoking cigarettes, but I'm not much of a social smoker, I have realized. I like to smoke alone. That's a good thing and a bad thing. Good because if I'm busy I smoke less. (I guess that's what I'm supposed to say; I actually like smoking.) But if I'm lonely I smoke more. (Oh, that's not really true. I've smoked three or four a day for the past couple of days - two or three more than my usual daily intake - and I'm feeling indulgent.) When I got to my truck, I decided I did want to come home. It feels good to be home, particularly when I left a party feeling good and brought that feeling with me as opposed to the opposite.
Wednesday was kind of a weird double-whammy on the emotions. Wednesday evening was my second improv class at the new place. It's a level one class. I've taken a couple of each level up to level three, but I wanted to get a different perspective, expand my improv knowledge. I mentioned it to T and she approved wholeheartedly. (It's weird, it felt like a confession. I had mentioned it to a few people in the community randomly and hadn't mentioned it to her, so I felt like I had to make a point of telling her, which I guess is why it felt like a confession. But anyway...)
The teacher is a nice guy, if a little clueless. Or at least it feels that way to me. I don't want to make a deal about it, but there were a couple of things that got under my skin. Which makes me thankful that I'm back in therapy - twice a month. The first class, he made a completely innocent comment about the fact that we plan what we're going to do before we go on stage based on fear, wanting to be accepted, cool, funny, "attractive to the opposite sex so we can procreate." Maybe it sounds a little biblical, now that I write it out. I just had a feeling of "he doesn't mean me, he doesn't 'accept' me." I'm really not all that political about identity, but my religious and suppressive upbringing kind of makes it similar to a political feeling. Now that I write it out.
Anyway, so I had therapy the next day, and I was able to get over it, whatever that means. Truly, I'm only bringing it up because I'm writing about it. It's been so long ago now, the fact that I haven't written about it yet should point to the fact that it's not all that important to me. Same as with the date. I'm a little buzzed so I'm feeling eloquent, in the movingly expressive sense of the word.
In the more recent class, the second class of the six-week session, the class that followed soon after the date, the teacher told everyone to find the person they felt had the most in common with them. I went to the big dyke with the piercings and black rock T-shirt on. We were instructed to find three things we had in common. We both had spacers in our ears (mine a "2," hers an "0," which is bigger, natch), so I pointed that out. Then I said, "And we're both gay." It seemed to take her by surprise. Maybe I'm projecting. She said, "What?" I said, "You're gay, right?" She said, "Oh-- yeah," which sounded like she hadn't heard me the first time. Maybe I slurred it out nervously. I have a tendency to do that. The dreaded G word. But I'm facing it, I'm getting closer to an understanding, I think, slowly but surely, one day at a time, sweet Jesus...
We then had to choose the most interesting thing and write that on a strip of paper the teacher had passed out while we were all rumbling in our two-person teams. He said, "Not the most obvious thing; something that would make everybody in the room go, 'Ooh!'"
My partner said, "What do I write, 'We're both gay?'" I said, "Put 'We're both homos.'" Which she did after a smirk.
The strips of paper were put away and forgot about for the rest of class - almost forgotten completely. As we were about to leave, the teacher stopped us and said he had to read them. Everyone froze. They were probably all wondering if what they had written was good enough, I know I was. Had I tricked this poor 20-something into doing something she wasn't comfortable with? Or did the notion that we needed to point it out seem unnecessary to her? That could be the case, I guess, if she believed there was no need for distinction other than a way of dressing, if the need to define yourself publicly was/is passé.
What am I even writing? Did I say I was buzzed. Have you seen those billboards that say Buzzed Driving Is Drunk Driving? Well, Buzzed Writing Is Drunk Writing, Too, then. But I'm not so much drunk as I'm high. Not drunk at all, actually. I didn't have enough money for a beer tonight. I was at a film party at the Art Alliance or Art Authority or The Place Next to Spiderhouse - whatever they're calling it these days. I digress.
The improv teacher read through all of the strips of paper, some interesting, some funny, some just fine. "We're both homos." was the very last one. When he read it, he stopped on the word "homo" and read it carefully, then said coyly, "Well, okay, that may be true-- And that would be okay..."
It doesn't seem like much. It didn't seem like much when it happened. I felt a weirdness in my center. My partner didn't seem to react, and everybody else just kind of laughed or ignored it, as with the others. When I mentioned it to S and others, though, I started feeling a little more isolated by the experience. It drives me crazy that I can't see these things in the moment, can't work with them. I know, I know, recognizing it at all is a step in that direction (Thank you, Pëma).
I had therapy the next morning, and when I told the story to L, he stopped me a ways down the path and said, "I'm sorry. As a straight man, I didn't even realize that was what you were saying." I love L, he's a wonderful therapist. What he said made me realize what I suspected: A doesn't even realize it; he is speaking only from his own experience. That's good to know, but it may make me judge his teaching efforts differently. I hope this isn't truly the case.
Thursday, I took S to the airport and he flew off to NYC for forever (not really, he's back on September 20th, driving back from Indiana in the car his parents are giving him). I'm going to NYC on the 9th and his rock opera (I guess that's what it's called) Lizzie Borden opens on the 10th, and I'm gonna get to see it!
I didn't do a lot else on Thursday or Friday. I had a barometric pressure headache (I don't know if that's a clinical term or my own); I get them sometimes when rain is coming. It feels like a hangover and/or a minor migraine. Sometimes the migraines get full-blown, but this one didn't. I felt feverish. And then I realized that my window unit was frozen over and blowing outside air in, and it was in the triple-digits! The rain came at some point in the afternoon, and amazingly, the headache all but disappeared.
I was thinking about going to see a movie on Thursday evening, but the a/c episode butted into my schedule. The foam over the cooling intake part of the a/c had frozen to the iced over ribs, and in trying to remove it, I pulled a hole shaped like Africa about 2 x 3" big. So I was thinking I needed to get a new one of those. I also needed to go to the store for candies, and it was almost time for the stores to close. I carried the foam thing to Home Depot, and they didn't have anything like it! Then I went to Target (because I had to go there for the candies anyway) and carried the muddy foam thing in with me in case they had one. They did not.
I needed the candies - mini Snickers, Twix, 3 Musketeers, etc. - for a Christmas Tree I was making for T's surprise birthday party (with a Christmas theme!) on Friday evening. I popped popcorn on Wednesday and it sat in my room getting stale, which I eventually told myself I intended. Friday morning I strung two strands (12 feet maybe) of popcorn and mini candies. It was quite lovely. The tree I got last weekend at a garage sale; it's a 4-foot tall fiber optic tree, so it didn't need lights. S&E put up other Christmassy decorations and the three of us made collage cards for T. I wish I had taken a picture of mine.
C had no real plan for getting T to the theater after their show at the Hideout. They were heading to East Side Pies, she thought, then somebody in the car said, "Let's go to the theater and drop off these fliers." T is easygoing, she said, "Sure." She was the one with the key at the door; I stood peeking out of the door curtain after we got the text. I saw her arriving, shushed everyone. The door was unlocked, so when she turned her key in the door, she thought it had finally happened, they had gotten broken into. She had a quick succession of dreadful thoughts - We don't have insurance; they took all our shit! - and she turned to run away, not wanting to go inside in case the bad guys were still in there. C grabbed her and pushed her into the room; she stumbled onto the stage and fell laughing. It was the best party she's had in years.
Last night I saw my friend M at Cafe Caffeine doing a monologue (with several other good storytellers) on the theme of "Clerks." M's bit was very funny, as was another guy, who read a story about a fat kid (him) trying to slide a 64-ounce Coke across a movie theater countertop Western movie style, only to hurl it onto its side sending sticky liquid flying on everyone in the lobby except him. I had tears flowing!
After that, I went to S's regular hangout, the Chain Drive. I've gone there a few times, but I'm not much of a bar person, and the times I've gone haven't been with S, and I've had some social anxiety issues there. But I got a notion to text S's friend G and see if he would be there. That was where S met G, I'm pretty sure. He indeed was going and we met up after the show. It was nice getting to know him a little better, as well as D, his ex-boyfriend best friend, who showed up. A weird thing happened, though. There was an attractive guy possibly looking at me, "cruising me," as it were. (He could have been cruising G, but I'm pretty sure we were making eye contact.) G was content to just sit there and chat with me, and I was trying to decide if it was rude to excuse myself to talk to a stranger. I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that. I don't think he would have considered it rude. D did that very thing when he showed up and the three of us were talking.
The young man went inside and back out a few times, and when G, D and I were talking, I was thinking to myself that that would be a good time to excuse myself and make my feeble attempts. But I couldn't figure out the wording for it. So I just became anxious and eventually had to leave. I did do one "Fruit Loop" as D called it (a walk around the square bar with the seating lining the walls opposite it). It was during my Fruit Loop that I realized my potential suitor had left, so when I returned to G and D, I told them that I had decided to do a "Fruity Pebbles" and "rock out!" (Weird, I know.)
Today was Sunday. I started working on some minor revisions to my manuscript - woo-hoo! At 5 I had book club at BookPeople, this month discussing J. M. Coetzee's Nobel Prize winning novel, Disgrace (Wow.), but I left the house at 2 and stopped by P.Terry's for a #5 and a double-chocolate shake. That was good, of course, the book club was good. After that I met up with M at Spiderhouse to hang out before HomoScope, the film party that was going on at the place next to there. There were a lot of really weird but pretty interesting films. I saw a number of people I knew and so felt socially relaxed. I snuck out in the middle of the after party right after telling someone I wasn't going home, that I was just going to my truck, which was the truth, because I was thinking I would roll a cigarette and go back to the party and join them where they were all smoking cigarettes, but I'm not much of a social smoker, I have realized. I like to smoke alone. That's a good thing and a bad thing. Good because if I'm busy I smoke less. (I guess that's what I'm supposed to say; I actually like smoking.) But if I'm lonely I smoke more. (Oh, that's not really true. I've smoked three or four a day for the past couple of days - two or three more than my usual daily intake - and I'm feeling indulgent.) When I got to my truck, I decided I did want to come home. It feels good to be home, particularly when I left a party feeling good and brought that feeling with me as opposed to the opposite.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
saturday, october 2 (2004)
almost 10:00 a.m.The College Street Tent is filling up. Word has it there are at least 10,000 people who come to the International Storytelling Festival. There must be 50,000 stories here at least. I'm close to the back of the tent. I'm thinking I'll stay here for the first three tellers of the day, that way maybe I'll be able to move forward a bit each time. Number three is an elderly lady named Kathryn Windham; I hope to be pretty close for her.
I got my program and sat down with it and a cup of coffee and tried to figure out some method for deciding which teller to see when and where. I was wearing the raw silk knit cap I got at Spring Gathering. An old man stopped and asked me if I got my hat in Morocco. He had gotten one similar to it when we was stationed there in the Navy. We talked a while. He's been coming to this festival for 17 years - only missed one when he was flat-on-his-back sick. He told me I was gonna be hooked. I told him I already am, and haven't heard one word of a story yet. People are so friendly.
Jonesborough is the oldest town in Tennessee. I don't know if that has anything to do with it, these people are from all over the place. I asked the old man how to go about deciding on who to see. He said he and his wife pick one tent and sit there all day. He pointed out a few acts that he said I should not miss. He's an old Service Man, could be a Bush fan, but his was the only advice I had to go on. He said, "Some of 'em are average, but a whole lot of 'em are outstanding."
John McCutcheon was in the Midnight Cabaret last night. I wish I'd known that; I would've paid the extra $15 for that one instead of tonight's. Not that I think tonight's show won't be good. It's a Cuban woman named Carmen Deedy. I'm sure it'll be spicy.
I'm wearing my yellow Crocs. People can't help but look at 'em.
I spent the night in a parking lot in Johnson City. Big Blue was very comfy and cozy. Well, I could stand to make the bed cushions a little more comfy. But I slept well.
There is non-stop chatter. A woman behind me just said "--compromising position!" and laughed. Earlier a woman screamed out a name and the din of noise abated for a moment then rose up again. When I first sat down, I heard an old man two rows back. He said, "How are they gonna get the elephants in here?" I guess he didn't get a response because a few moments later he said, "I don't know how they're gonna have a circus in this tent with all these people here!"
Krispy Kreme came on as the official sponsor of the festival this year. They have a 10-year contract, so I heard. People are carrying familiar little half-dozen boxes around everywhere I look. The couple next to me just gave the man in front of us a bottle of water. He insisted on paying the $1.50 he knows it cost. Then they offered the chubby boy next to him a donut. The boy tentatively nodded, then took the box. The man offering said, "Just one."(!)
I guess it wasn't as close to 10:00 as I thought it was. I sure am glad I got here as early as I did. I parked in the Kiwanis grass lot next to the fire station. It cost $10 to park, but it's within walking distance so I'll save the $2 round trip shuttle fee to/from the $5 parking lots, and I'll probably be able to go back and forth a lot more. I'm glad I brought cereal and rice milk with me. I had that and an apple and so the donuts aren't calling me like they would've otherwise. I would've been walking around with one of those half-dozen boxes like everybody else.
A church on Main Street is offering "Free Water from Jacob's Well." I wonder what that's about, and how free it really is.
--
Must be 2:00 o'clock now. I decided to get a little lunch and get out of the tent for a while. My stomach hurt during the last hour because I had eaten a bunch of trail mix and needed to go potty.
It's been raining on and off all day. Fortunately, I've been under cover every time. Across from the table where I'm sitting is a little Toyota pickup with a gay-identifying rainbow under the cab back window, and on the passenger side it says in bright orange shoe polish:
I got my program and sat down with it and a cup of coffee and tried to figure out some method for deciding which teller to see when and where. I was wearing the raw silk knit cap I got at Spring Gathering. An old man stopped and asked me if I got my hat in Morocco. He had gotten one similar to it when we was stationed there in the Navy. We talked a while. He's been coming to this festival for 17 years - only missed one when he was flat-on-his-back sick. He told me I was gonna be hooked. I told him I already am, and haven't heard one word of a story yet. People are so friendly.
Jonesborough is the oldest town in Tennessee. I don't know if that has anything to do with it, these people are from all over the place. I asked the old man how to go about deciding on who to see. He said he and his wife pick one tent and sit there all day. He pointed out a few acts that he said I should not miss. He's an old Service Man, could be a Bush fan, but his was the only advice I had to go on. He said, "Some of 'em are average, but a whole lot of 'em are outstanding."
John McCutcheon was in the Midnight Cabaret last night. I wish I'd known that; I would've paid the extra $15 for that one instead of tonight's. Not that I think tonight's show won't be good. It's a Cuban woman named Carmen Deedy. I'm sure it'll be spicy.
I'm wearing my yellow Crocs. People can't help but look at 'em.
I spent the night in a parking lot in Johnson City. Big Blue was very comfy and cozy. Well, I could stand to make the bed cushions a little more comfy. But I slept well.
There is non-stop chatter. A woman behind me just said "--compromising position!" and laughed. Earlier a woman screamed out a name and the din of noise abated for a moment then rose up again. When I first sat down, I heard an old man two rows back. He said, "How are they gonna get the elephants in here?" I guess he didn't get a response because a few moments later he said, "I don't know how they're gonna have a circus in this tent with all these people here!"
Krispy Kreme came on as the official sponsor of the festival this year. They have a 10-year contract, so I heard. People are carrying familiar little half-dozen boxes around everywhere I look. The couple next to me just gave the man in front of us a bottle of water. He insisted on paying the $1.50 he knows it cost. Then they offered the chubby boy next to him a donut. The boy tentatively nodded, then took the box. The man offering said, "Just one."(!)
I guess it wasn't as close to 10:00 as I thought it was. I sure am glad I got here as early as I did. I parked in the Kiwanis grass lot next to the fire station. It cost $10 to park, but it's within walking distance so I'll save the $2 round trip shuttle fee to/from the $5 parking lots, and I'll probably be able to go back and forth a lot more. I'm glad I brought cereal and rice milk with me. I had that and an apple and so the donuts aren't calling me like they would've otherwise. I would've been walking around with one of those half-dozen boxes like everybody else.
A church on Main Street is offering "Free Water from Jacob's Well." I wonder what that's about, and how free it really is.
--
Must be 2:00 o'clock now. I decided to get a little lunch and get out of the tent for a while. My stomach hurt during the last hour because I had eaten a bunch of trail mix and needed to go potty.
It's been raining on and off all day. Fortunately, I've been under cover every time. Across from the table where I'm sitting is a little Toyota pickup with a gay-identifying rainbow under the cab back window, and on the passenger side it says in bright orange shoe polish:
HEY, YA'LL
and
JUST HITCHED!
and
JUST HITCHED!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
friday, october 1 (2004)
9:30-ishI'm in Johnson City. I got here at 7:30, had to shit real bad and went to see a movie just so I could. I wanted to see Life of Brian - that would've been fun - but it had already started (well, actually I don't know, what with all the previews; but I didn't know how long it would take me to shit...). I watched The Forgotten, only because it starred Julianne Moore. It had Anthony Edwards in it, too, which might've swayed me away from it, but I didn't know that. It was all right, that's all. Sort of an extended "X-Files" kind of movie. All right.
I realized on my way eastward today that I was sort of taking Big Blue on a test run. To see how she did/does long distance. Today was a 7.5 hour drive. It could've been shorter, but I didn't push her. I stayed behind slow-moving 18-wheelers on the long inclines.
I told R on Sunday that I want to go to California by the end of next year. He didn't say much until Wednesday, his first day back to work after a 5-day weekend. I was in the home office transcribing. He came in and was putting on his shoes. He looked up at me and his face was all wet and his eyes were all red. I still tear up when I picture his face, even here in the Olive Garden (all-you-can-eat soup and salad - old habits die hard!).
I knelt in front of him and we cried for a while. He said, "I don't want to lose you." Up until Sunday I thought all I wanted was to get away from R, away from that relationship. But after I thought about it some more, and after Wednesday, and after I put my thoughts into a 6-page letter, I realized that it isn't what I have or don't have in my relationship with R, it's what I don't have in my life. Namely a creative collaborator. And that is something I could never have with R. The fact that he's not an artist (although he could be with his photos) is one of the things I love about R. I was ready to get away from that part of my life. And I did. But I couldn't stay away from it forever. I tried to convince R in my letter that we should have this relationship for this next year, that we should continue to work on it and ourselves. And when it's time for me to go to California we can have the satisfaction of ending a relationship that is not a failure.
I dropped the letter in his lunch box today. He left a message on my voice mail while I was out of range in the Smokies. He said he'd already read my note (I'm assuming before he even left for work). I'm glad I told him last weekend. I told Dr. C I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell him before I came to the Storytellers Festival or if I wanted to use this weekend away to ponder it. As it turns out, telling him on Sunday and not getting a response from him until Wednesday, and then taking the past couple of days to gather my thoughts and deliver them to him, turned out to be best for all of us. I have all that heaviness off my mind and can concentrate on the festival. And since I'm out of range, he'll have the weekend by himself to ponder the mysteries of me!
I realized on my way eastward today that I was sort of taking Big Blue on a test run. To see how she did/does long distance. Today was a 7.5 hour drive. It could've been shorter, but I didn't push her. I stayed behind slow-moving 18-wheelers on the long inclines.
I told R on Sunday that I want to go to California by the end of next year. He didn't say much until Wednesday, his first day back to work after a 5-day weekend. I was in the home office transcribing. He came in and was putting on his shoes. He looked up at me and his face was all wet and his eyes were all red. I still tear up when I picture his face, even here in the Olive Garden (all-you-can-eat soup and salad - old habits die hard!).
I knelt in front of him and we cried for a while. He said, "I don't want to lose you." Up until Sunday I thought all I wanted was to get away from R, away from that relationship. But after I thought about it some more, and after Wednesday, and after I put my thoughts into a 6-page letter, I realized that it isn't what I have or don't have in my relationship with R, it's what I don't have in my life. Namely a creative collaborator. And that is something I could never have with R. The fact that he's not an artist (although he could be with his photos) is one of the things I love about R. I was ready to get away from that part of my life. And I did. But I couldn't stay away from it forever. I tried to convince R in my letter that we should have this relationship for this next year, that we should continue to work on it and ourselves. And when it's time for me to go to California we can have the satisfaction of ending a relationship that is not a failure.
I dropped the letter in his lunch box today. He left a message on my voice mail while I was out of range in the Smokies. He said he'd already read my note (I'm assuming before he even left for work). I'm glad I told him last weekend. I told Dr. C I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell him before I came to the Storytellers Festival or if I wanted to use this weekend away to ponder it. As it turns out, telling him on Sunday and not getting a response from him until Wednesday, and then taking the past couple of days to gather my thoughts and deliver them to him, turned out to be best for all of us. I have all that heaviness off my mind and can concentrate on the festival. And since I'm out of range, he'll have the weekend by himself to ponder the mysteries of me!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
tuesday, september 28th (2004)
10:27 p.m.For the last four nights at least, I've looked at a clock when it read 10:27. I wonder if RM still sees "1027" like he used to all of the time.
I'm under the tin roof of the carport, with insects singing their night song. (or) with the night-song insects playing away. (!)
We saw John Waters' latest tonight. E said the other day in the dog park that Chris Isaak would get R to that movie.
I said, "Oh, really?"
He said, "Don't you know about his Chris Isaak thing?"
I'm smoking again; killing myself. For what?
Sc from the dog park was there at the movie with his friend M - who I thought was H because I didn't remember his name. R and I were the first in the theater. Sc asked if they could sit with us. Our arms and legs touched now and again during the movie. I don't think it was all me (oh, god, what a pervert!). I'd plied R with a pot brownie. We stopped at Chez Jose because he had a coupon. I'm so tired of eating at places just because we have a coupon! R didn't say a word to me the whole meal; didn't even look at me, I don't think. He had eaten the brownie before we got there; I didn't know it. I thought he was just being hateful. I asked him if I'd already told him that JT from our bridge group is in an upcoming production of Sweeney Todd and he just shook his head and looked off into space.
I enjoyed the movie. The last time I enjoyed a movie that much was when we saw Sordid Lives for the first time - when we were on the "ski trip" last February in West Virginia. We were on pot brownies that night, too.
When Sc and I laughed, we leaned into each other. When R laughed, he pulled away.
I left R a note recently that said: I've been struggling lately, in case you didn't notice(!).
He wrote back: I notice, anything I can do for you?
I wrote back: Don't pull away.
Since then, he's pulled further and further away. Poor thing, I know he's stuck, but I can't help him anymore than I already have. It became clear tonight and ended with him vomiting in the compost pile and clambering off to bed.
RB was at the movie tonight, too. He and his friends sat behind us. When they arrived, he kissed me on top of my freshly shaved, buffed-looking shiny head. He told his friends I was the only bigger fan of John Waters than him.
I cawed back, "I've got an award with his name on it, and I got a postcard from him!"
What kind of monster must I sound like? I was just playing the part with RB like I always do. But I probably still sounded like a braggart to some of the people around me. Hopefully Sc and M saw it as me being confident and wealthy of acquaintances(!). [I keep putting parenthetical exclamation points because I like the way that came out. And I only explain that because I love the word "parenthetical!"]
There's a gas can clicking in the garage; I'm having a hard time including it in the symphony.
RB said he and his friends were going for a drink and invited us along. We didn't commit. I was willing to go if R wanted to have a drink. (He often does - that's the way of his people. And I often do too, of late, because it seems I've become one of his people.) Turns out R was too high to go out, but not too high to stop at the liquor stor for beer.
When we got home, he said he was having a hard time getting out of the car. He was way-high by this point. I lit candles in the carport, opened beers, gave R an excellent dark chocolate bar, put the plastic Cape Cod chairs on the carport. R came out and said, "This is perfect!" He was content and I was enjoying the moment.
It didn't last long. He was at Ida last night, and said tonight that the last time he was at Ida, he and E and JV went together, and they slept in one tent, and he slept alone. (R was so in love with E.)
I said, "That's a drag."
He said, "Yes, it was." He looked into my eyes and I could see his sadness. This is what made me fall in love with him.
Is that sick? I fell in love with R because of his sadness. At the time, I was lonely and insecure. He was lonely. We fell in love. Me with his sadness, with the need to help him; him with my desire to take care of him. I'm his caretaker, I'm not his lover.
I do love taking care of R. But in the bargain I've neglected to take care of myself. Two weeks ago I told my shrink I was content with my relationship and what I'm getting from it. Yesterday afternoon, I told him I was unhappy, that I need a change. I said I realized that OK wasn't good enough for me.
After that session, I decided I wanted to move to California, to be with S. Since then, I've decided I will move to California by the end of next year.
I decided this would be a good time to break the news to R. I didn't just decide on the spur; I considered the decision carefully.
R said, "I'm so high!" He was enjoying himself. Then he brought up the sadness he felt about E and JV closing him out. About E closing him out throughout their relationship.
It seemed to me that he was in the state of mind to deal with my issues. But before I got the chance to say anything, R said he had to pee and I helped him up and sent him on his way. While he was gone, I sat back in my chair and thought about what I would say and how I would say it. The insect symphony was joined by a single cop siren, up and down, as the candelier with the beautiful ceramic ball in it swung gently over my head, hanging by black chains and metal rings.
I'm not happy. I haven't been happy much lately. I'm not happy in this relationship, and I've realized I once had a goal to live in California, and I want to continue to pursue that goal, that dream. I'm not leaving you. I'm still here for you. For now. I plan to be in California by the end of next year.
When R came back from peeing and plopped back into his chair next to me, after we'd exchanged a few pleasantries, and after a silent time had passed between us, I said, "I have something serious to talk to you about."
He said, "Nnnot nnnowww... I'm not in the right mood for that."
I said, "What kind of mood would that be?"
He didn't answer. He bent over, almost in a fetal position, eyes barely open.
I told him to lean back, to relax, "We don't have to talk about anything."
He leaned back in his chair, sprung back into position like a rubber band, locked his fingers together between his knees. "How's this?" He was defying me, refusing to communicate, flaunting his defiance.
I decided to tell him anyway. But he beat me to the punch.
"I think I have to go to bed," he said.
He didn't need help getting up this time.
I said, "All right." (Still practicing patience...)
I leaned back and looked up at the gently swaying candelier. The wind picked up as R walked away and the deep, dark windchime rang its three tones in a new variety of patterns.
I had to hear him heaving a third time before I realized R was vomiting. Still, I wasn't sure. I got up and carried my beer with me. He was leaned over the side of the compost bin. For a brief moment, his heaving sounded like deep, dark cries of pain - heart pain. But he wouldn't cry over me like this. Maybe he was feeling like a failure at this relationship, and any failure reminds him of the biggest failer in his life, and that was his love for E.
As I helped R into the house, poured him a glass of water, put toothpaste on a toothbrush and handed it to him, I thought, God, he's such a Tennessee Williams character! I should call him Tennessee Williamson. I should base a character by that name on him. I mean, how perfect was it to avoid having a serious discussion by getting sick enough to vomit?
I had to find my jounral while I was in the house taking care of R. I kept saying to myself throughout the evening, Remember this; write this down.
How perfect was it that I was sitting between R and Sc at the movie, sitting between What Is and What Could Be? It was very telling.
I'm under the tin roof of the carport, with insects singing their night song. (or) with the night-song insects playing away. (!)
We saw John Waters' latest tonight. E said the other day in the dog park that Chris Isaak would get R to that movie.
I said, "Oh, really?"
He said, "Don't you know about his Chris Isaak thing?"
I'm smoking again; killing myself. For what?
Sc from the dog park was there at the movie with his friend M - who I thought was H because I didn't remember his name. R and I were the first in the theater. Sc asked if they could sit with us. Our arms and legs touched now and again during the movie. I don't think it was all me (oh, god, what a pervert!). I'd plied R with a pot brownie. We stopped at Chez Jose because he had a coupon. I'm so tired of eating at places just because we have a coupon! R didn't say a word to me the whole meal; didn't even look at me, I don't think. He had eaten the brownie before we got there; I didn't know it. I thought he was just being hateful. I asked him if I'd already told him that JT from our bridge group is in an upcoming production of Sweeney Todd and he just shook his head and looked off into space.
I enjoyed the movie. The last time I enjoyed a movie that much was when we saw Sordid Lives for the first time - when we were on the "ski trip" last February in West Virginia. We were on pot brownies that night, too.
When Sc and I laughed, we leaned into each other. When R laughed, he pulled away.
I left R a note recently that said: I've been struggling lately, in case you didn't notice(!).
He wrote back: I notice, anything I can do for you?
I wrote back: Don't pull away.
Since then, he's pulled further and further away. Poor thing, I know he's stuck, but I can't help him anymore than I already have. It became clear tonight and ended with him vomiting in the compost pile and clambering off to bed.
RB was at the movie tonight, too. He and his friends sat behind us. When they arrived, he kissed me on top of my freshly shaved, buffed-looking shiny head. He told his friends I was the only bigger fan of John Waters than him.
I cawed back, "I've got an award with his name on it, and I got a postcard from him!"
What kind of monster must I sound like? I was just playing the part with RB like I always do. But I probably still sounded like a braggart to some of the people around me. Hopefully Sc and M saw it as me being confident and wealthy of acquaintances(!). [I keep putting parenthetical exclamation points because I like the way that came out. And I only explain that because I love the word "parenthetical!"]
There's a gas can clicking in the garage; I'm having a hard time including it in the symphony.
RB said he and his friends were going for a drink and invited us along. We didn't commit. I was willing to go if R wanted to have a drink. (He often does - that's the way of his people. And I often do too, of late, because it seems I've become one of his people.) Turns out R was too high to go out, but not too high to stop at the liquor stor for beer.
When we got home, he said he was having a hard time getting out of the car. He was way-high by this point. I lit candles in the carport, opened beers, gave R an excellent dark chocolate bar, put the plastic Cape Cod chairs on the carport. R came out and said, "This is perfect!" He was content and I was enjoying the moment.
It didn't last long. He was at Ida last night, and said tonight that the last time he was at Ida, he and E and JV went together, and they slept in one tent, and he slept alone. (R was so in love with E.)
I said, "That's a drag."
He said, "Yes, it was." He looked into my eyes and I could see his sadness. This is what made me fall in love with him.
Is that sick? I fell in love with R because of his sadness. At the time, I was lonely and insecure. He was lonely. We fell in love. Me with his sadness, with the need to help him; him with my desire to take care of him. I'm his caretaker, I'm not his lover.
I do love taking care of R. But in the bargain I've neglected to take care of myself. Two weeks ago I told my shrink I was content with my relationship and what I'm getting from it. Yesterday afternoon, I told him I was unhappy, that I need a change. I said I realized that OK wasn't good enough for me.
After that session, I decided I wanted to move to California, to be with S. Since then, I've decided I will move to California by the end of next year.
I decided this would be a good time to break the news to R. I didn't just decide on the spur; I considered the decision carefully.
R said, "I'm so high!" He was enjoying himself. Then he brought up the sadness he felt about E and JV closing him out. About E closing him out throughout their relationship.
It seemed to me that he was in the state of mind to deal with my issues. But before I got the chance to say anything, R said he had to pee and I helped him up and sent him on his way. While he was gone, I sat back in my chair and thought about what I would say and how I would say it. The insect symphony was joined by a single cop siren, up and down, as the candelier with the beautiful ceramic ball in it swung gently over my head, hanging by black chains and metal rings.
I'm not happy. I haven't been happy much lately. I'm not happy in this relationship, and I've realized I once had a goal to live in California, and I want to continue to pursue that goal, that dream. I'm not leaving you. I'm still here for you. For now. I plan to be in California by the end of next year.
When R came back from peeing and plopped back into his chair next to me, after we'd exchanged a few pleasantries, and after a silent time had passed between us, I said, "I have something serious to talk to you about."
He said, "Nnnot nnnowww... I'm not in the right mood for that."
I said, "What kind of mood would that be?"
He didn't answer. He bent over, almost in a fetal position, eyes barely open.
I told him to lean back, to relax, "We don't have to talk about anything."
He leaned back in his chair, sprung back into position like a rubber band, locked his fingers together between his knees. "How's this?" He was defying me, refusing to communicate, flaunting his defiance.
I decided to tell him anyway. But he beat me to the punch.
"I think I have to go to bed," he said.
He didn't need help getting up this time.
I said, "All right." (Still practicing patience...)
I leaned back and looked up at the gently swaying candelier. The wind picked up as R walked away and the deep, dark windchime rang its three tones in a new variety of patterns.
I had to hear him heaving a third time before I realized R was vomiting. Still, I wasn't sure. I got up and carried my beer with me. He was leaned over the side of the compost bin. For a brief moment, his heaving sounded like deep, dark cries of pain - heart pain. But he wouldn't cry over me like this. Maybe he was feeling like a failure at this relationship, and any failure reminds him of the biggest failer in his life, and that was his love for E.
As I helped R into the house, poured him a glass of water, put toothpaste on a toothbrush and handed it to him, I thought, God, he's such a Tennessee Williams character! I should call him Tennessee Williamson. I should base a character by that name on him. I mean, how perfect was it to avoid having a serious discussion by getting sick enough to vomit?
I had to find my jounral while I was in the house taking care of R. I kept saying to myself throughout the evening, Remember this; write this down.
How perfect was it that I was sitting between R and Sc at the movie, sitting between What Is and What Could Be? It was very telling.
Monday, May 11, 2009
sunday, september 26th (2004)
12:17 a.m.I'm kind of in a daze. Not because of the movie, though it was good. I decided today (or yesterday, technically) that I'm gonna move to California within the next year. Most likely, S and I will live together. Now the question is how do I tell R? And what do I tell R? And when? He's at Idapalooza tonight, maybe till Sunday.
Dr. C pointed out three times that I said I was glad today:
1) Glad that R was going to Ida without me;
2) Glad that I was going to Jonesborough next weekend without him; and
3) I can't remember what the third glad was.
S dreamed a "Peace. Love. Y'all." logo for the documentary. (A peace sign. A heart. A lucky green dress.) He and C finished the submittable edit of the film (2 hours) in the nick of time to get it to FedEx to send it to the Sundance Festival committee.
I'm wired. I think this is the right decision. Perhaps one year will be a good goal for being off of antidepressants as well...
2:56 a.m.
There's an old tale about a woman who cut the ends off of roasts before putting them in the oven... I heard that when I was young; maybe that's why I came to despise my mother's Sunday roasts.
Dr. C pointed out three times that I said I was glad today:
1) Glad that R was going to Ida without me;
2) Glad that I was going to Jonesborough next weekend without him; and
3) I can't remember what the third glad was.
S dreamed a "Peace. Love. Y'all." logo for the documentary. (A peace sign. A heart. A lucky green dress.) He and C finished the submittable edit of the film (2 hours) in the nick of time to get it to FedEx to send it to the Sundance Festival committee.
I'm wired. I think this is the right decision. Perhaps one year will be a good goal for being off of antidepressants as well...
2:56 a.m.
There's an old tale about a woman who cut the ends off of roasts before putting them in the oven... I heard that when I was young; maybe that's why I came to despise my mother's Sunday roasts.
Friday, May 8, 2009
thursday, september 23rd, 10:30ish p.m. (2004)
I'm in such a fucking quandary right now. For the last day or so, I've been thinking I need to do something about this relationship I'm in. I don't feel like I can leave, for so many reasons. I love R, but this isn't the relationship I wanted; this isn't the life I wanted.I saw Sc at the park a couple of days ago. There was flirtation. I invited him to see Maria Full of Grace as we were packing the dogs in the cars. He said he has a big job this week, but took my number and said he would call. He did. He couldn't go.
I didn't go to the movie either. I found out it's playing through the weekend. He was at the dog park again tonight, with his friend who was with him the first time I met him (when R was in Wisconsin, because I didn't have Bayne at the park with me then). I felt a little weird around Sc.
When I was first courting R, L commented to S that I was going in fifth gear, and S told her I always do. What's that about?
I was trying to think of all of these things Sc and I could do together. I did mentioned the other night that I have a "partner." Tonight I found myself wanting to take that back.
My attraction to Sc isn't what's making me contemplate and reassess my relationship with R, but it is making the fact that there's a problem in my relationship with R all the more clear.
I called A last night - he had a short-lived relationship with R and then lived with him for five years as a housemate - I figured he would be a good shoulder to lean on. He was. But he complicated matters a little by telling me I could come live with him. I don't feel that's at all an option, but it's tempting - or it is on occasion.
The fact is I do need to reassess my relationship with R. Well, we need to reassess, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who'll be taking part in the reassessment (though I'd love to be wrong about that).
This whole thing started yesterday or the day before when I was thinking about how I shouldn't be going to the Galapagos Islands {with R}. I can't afford it. If I go, I'll be $3,000 deeper in debt. I really have no right going off on an expensive
Saturday, May 2, 2009
sunday, september 19th, 1-ish (2004)
I don't know what reason I have for feeling down today, but I do. I've been thinking a lot about my life here lately. What am I accomplishing? Where is this going? L and I went to see some singer/songwriters last night; one I know, one she knows.His songs moved me - I cried at the one about his friend R's cancer treatment. I wonder if it made me cry because of Pamela, or because it was that beautiful.
Or was I just longing for a different life for myself? One with him? He smiles a lot, he's very gentle; not at all like what I've got now. I find myself wanting to leave this relationship, wanting to run away. But I feel trapped in it, too. Mostly for his sake.
I've always called his anger a good lesson for me, for my cultivation of patience. But have I learned enough? Is that what this feeling is? Is my relationship with R the reason I'm disgruntled with UU? Or is that another issue altogether, another factor contributing to my funk?
Or is it the medication? Is it wrong for me?
Today is ST's birthday lunch. I don't want to go, but I don't want to say anything. I don't want to eat; I don't want to spend the money. And I'm thinking it's gonna cause some kind of funk on the group. So I feel like I should say something to R. But at the same time, I feel like I should stand my ground. It's my right to go and not eat and just celebrate his birthday, right? But then why am I avoiding signing the card for the present R bought ST?
Does it all go back to my pulling back from this relationship? From that church? From this life?
I daydreamed about just pulling up and going to California. But that doesn't feel right at all. First, S doesn't even have a place to live, and he won't for some months. I know he'd be happy to have me at that point, but it's not something I'd even consider right now.
So I think to myself, How many months? But that's so irresponsible. I have enough jobs here and the living situation to support getting myself out of debt. That's a good and noble goal, I know that. But I fantasize about a relationship with poor artists like singer/songwriter J, and try to arrange sexual encounters with people like that older swimmer dude at the Y who flirts with me with his huge dick. My sexual life beyond that is pretty nonexistent.
Party time...
5-ish
Novel idea: Big Blue. Starts off with my depression and switches back and forth between that and the Suburban Big Blue.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
thursday, september 16th, 10:08 a.m. (2004)
Even though I really can't afford it, I bought tickets for a weekend at the Nat'l. Storyteller Festival in Jonesborough. When I mentioned I'd like to go, Dr. C said he thought it sounded like the best idea he'd heard in a while.Tuesday, April 28, 2009
distraction
How can I feel so content and so sad at the same time? That's not a rhetorical question; and I don't really want an answer.I skipped yoga on Sunday, which hasn't become a regular day for me anyway, and then at the last minute yesterday - as I was getting dressed for it - skipped my regular Monday class, too. My knees hurt because of all of this rain. But I like this feeling, this humidity; it's not hot so the humidity doesn't bother me, it feels rich, I like the smells it activates.
R disappeared from Facebook and I got a little panicky. I had gone to Flightpath Coffeehouse to work on chapter 31 last week and suddenly got an urge to contact him, and thought I would do so on Facebook via my iPhone. He had contacted me a couple of weeks earlier, shortly after (I later discovered) he and his boyfriend had split up and his boyfriend had moved away. He called, but it was a short phone call; he said he had to meet someone and would call back. But then a couple days later he emailed to apologize for getting in touch and then disappearing again, saying simply "I've been unable to communicate..." Forgetting that the sentence actually went "I've been unable to communicate with anyone," my thought at the Flightpath was to ask "Is it just me or are you hiding from everybody?"
But he wasn't listed in my Facebook friends list. I was done writing for the day - that's why I let the distraction take me away - but it quickly turned to anxiety. Again my thought was "Is it just me or everybody." I packed up my notebook and bicycled home. I was somewhat relieved to discover that he had committed Facebook suicide, as it's called, having deleted his profile completely.
I guess I'm not over R. I don't guess I ever will be completely. The fact that he's moving from Tampa to Seattle makes me wonder what he's going there for. Or whom. Surely he's not already "with" someone. It probably has to do with his disdain for Tampa (yeah, I can imagine that).
The fact that S recently had sex with a man half his age who reminded him of R and then blogged that it was possible (not likely) that he could have a "whopping midlife crisis," fall in love and follow the man to California didn't help matters. Things don't feel so permanent here anymore.
I have a sneaking suspicion in the back of my head that the reason I haven't been able to find anyone to be interested in is because I'm still harboring hopes that R and I will be together again. I can picture a happy reunion sooner or later - even late in life. S has his doubts that such a thing would work out. I wish I could get it through my skull that such a thing could never work, but there is for some reason this feeling that R will always and forever be The One.
Not that S isn't important to me, but S is more like family, like a brother, my best friend. Our relationship is less defined in terms of our hearts; it's more of a soul connection, not physical. My love for S is stronger than it has ever been for anybody in my family, but it wouldn't (and hasn't been) changed by living across the hall or across the country from him.
I sent R an email, told him I felt a little pang of fear that he would disappear out of my life, that I felt like he was part of my family, a part that I never wanted to become estranged from. He responded a couple of days later with mutual feelings, said that I'm a big part of his family, too, "probably more than you know."
Was that just a statement to comfort me? It was comforting. It also made me want to write back and say, "Well, in that case, I'll meet you halfway there." But really, I'd much prefer it if he suddenly decided to come here where I've got a pretty good life going for myself, with the kind of weather I like, a performance community I'm beginning to feel comfortable in, and where I can afford to live and write.
Maybe that's the real reason I ain't got nobody...
Sunday, April 26, 2009
sunday, september 12th, 5:52 p.m. (2004)
They say you aren't supposed to relight a cigar once it goes out. What they should say is it's damn near impossible to relight a cigar.There's a beagle in the neighborhood. I can also distinguish the raspy bark of the black Doberman at the end of our alley.
I quit smoking cigarettes while we were in Nova Scotia. I got a cold a day or two before we left Nashville and had smoked the last of the pack of American Spirits I had so I didn't buy anymore to take on the trip. I smoked one of R's early on when we were at J's, there by the 20-foot high cliff overlooking St. Mary's Bay, and it did nothing for me. Well, it made my throat sore (more). So I didn't smoking another and didn't really have a second thought about it until I was reading an article by a columnist in the Montreal newspaper who smoked 25 Camels a day and had cancer. A side bar in the article mentioned the addiction people have to the smell of the match, putting the cigarette to the lips, the first drag, the curl of smoke rising, and I thought, Oh, yeah, that's what I like about it. The nicotine addiction is an unfortunate side effect. So that's why I just smoked the last Sweet Daddy cigar from the tin that I bought in Las Vegas.
I cross my legs, left ankle on the right knee, and I see a bundle of wrinkles at the top of my calf and I think, Oh, yeah, I'm 40. That's a sign of my aging. There are several gray hairs in my moustache and my goatee is almost solid white, except for a stripe down the middle. My jazz tooth isn't aging as fast as my other facial hairs. I plucked a few gray eyebrow hairs yesterday, and I've been pulling out shocking white coarse nose hairs for a while. Crazy.
I'm having a Spiritual Dilemma. Did I mention that? Let's see... I guess not.
Mosquitoes are starting to hover, even here on the front porch; I'll either have to go in or slather on some Burt's Bees Insect Repellant. One mosquito in particular is testing the ground that is me. My shirt, my arm. He hasn't dipped in yet.
Should I have a third Southern Comfort & Diet Coke? Should I smoke another bowl? Should I go inside and turn on the TV? It feels like I've been watching TV for two days. I've only been watching IFC and Sundance, and once in a while Comedy Central, but still, my eyes hurt from staring at the tube. I saw some good documentaries though.
Should I turn on the computer? And do what? Play Internet games? I feel like that's all I've done besides watch TV the past two days.
T's in town. (J's new boyfriend; we met him in Nova Scotia). We were supposed to go have a couple of drinks with him tonight, but we haven't heard from him. And here I've already had a couple of drinks.
It's one of those times when nobody's answering their phone. I called S. I called T. I called Sa, I called Ci, I called my mom. I called the S's, whose house I clean.
It rained all day today. Till now. It's cooler now; it's nice.
A's in town and we've been having sex. We're very connected in that way. And now that I've "figured out" my relationship with R - my "place" in our relationship (or something like that) - there's no need to hold back.
R and I had a shower together yesterday or the day before, and he said he had to jerk off; he hadn't had an orgasm in two weeks, which was the longest he'd gone in 20 years! I enjoyed watching him jerk off. He yanked my dick while he jerked his. I got hard but I didn't come. He made some comment that I can't remember, but which made me say, "Our relationship is not about orgasms." He said, "That's true," or something to that effect.
I am so out of money right now. My checking account says I have $10! I hope I have some money in savings to put in there. I was gonna go to the bank Friday morning and R discouraged me because it was 8 a.m. And so I ended up not going. And I've been spending some of the leftover cash I have from the trip to Nova Scotia. Actually, I didn't use any cash there because we heard you get a better exchange rate to Canadian if you use credit cards or even debit cards. And since I didn't have any money in my checking account (I thought I had $40; I only had $10), I told R to just tell me how much I owed him at the end of the trip.
S got to California in three days and starting working on the doc with C yesterday. They watched the 3-hour 45-minute edit that S created, and he told me that every idea C had, every suggestion, went right along with his thinking, and he's very excited to be working with him. They have a week to create the next edit, which they'll send to enter the Sundance Festival. (Sundance will accept unfinished entries.) And then they'll work another two weeks (? three weeks?) to finish the final edit. And at that point the budget for C's part will be spent. It's very exciting, really.
I've been having weird dreams lately. The most recent, most memorable weird dream included a family of deer running about, doing tricks and even dancing on busy streets, as well as a church service with a lot of inappropriate behavior (a weird play-acting thing in which a young guy is wearing only long john bottoms as his costume - though he has underwear or shorts on under them - and a mouthful of cassette tape that wouldn't stop coming out). I woke up with severe cottonmouth after that!
I had a falling out with R today. I don't know if he even knows it. He had gotten all his pictures out and was inspired (by A) to do a collage in an old window frame, and I thought I'd give him a hand by organizing the photos into Nature, R, R and Friends, Friends only, Animals, Things, etc. He came into the dining room, said, "What are you doing?" I said, "I'm organizing your photos, and looking at them." He said, "Well, they already are... I'll take care of it. It doesn't matter. I just have them in groups so I know where they were taken..." I left the photos and watched TV and played computer games. What am I saying? Of course he knows I had a falling out with him. It often happens as a reaction to him seemingly overreacting to something I've done in which I think I'm doing him a favor.
A and I joked about the fact that I could live in Denver.
I don't know if any or all of this has to do with my Spiritual Dilemma. I was reading UU World the other day, and there were article after article on the recent General Assembly, and I found myself getting bored and thinking, This is all a bunch of religiosity. Now that MK is gone, I don't seem to have a Spiritual base here. It seems that it's all about choir and lay ministry. And choir is a lot of input (Thursday night rehearsals and early Sunday morning calls). And lay ministry seems to be suffering from a lack of leadership.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
paris journal
26 Mars 12:45I want to go home. I'm trying to do that right now. I'm on the train to CDG Aeroport. At least I hope I'm on the correct train.
I left Mme. Rey's at 11:15, took the subway to the Gare du Nord Station, where the airport train leaves from, and spent more than an hour trying to figure out where to go, how to buy a ticket (which included finding a ticket machine then walking around the station - a long walk - and then to two stores to buy small items to get the right coinage for the machine, then finding the machine again).
I'm not happy here. I feel stressed about money. I'm going to the airport to see if I can get my ticket changed from Sunday to Saturday. I also wanted to do a practice run on getting to the airport by train. Good thing.
Last night was actually the best time I've had here, but it was a fluke. M&M and I went to a club called Andy Wahloo last night. It was in an alley on the way to another club we were looking for - a French cabaret. People seemed to think I was a famous deejay. Half a dozen people came up to me, several of them asked me specifically if I was the deejay or a deejay, or DJ Magic (I think)--
Ma went to the bar to get drinks, Me went to the bathroom, I stood in the middle of the room waving back at the people who were waving excitedly at me. When Ma returned, I told him what was happening, he said, "What did you say?" I told him I told them no. He said, "Don't do that! Tell them you ARE the deejay. What does it matter?"
Me came out of the bathroom eventually followed closely by two gay guys - or so we assumed - one a Spaniard with a low-cut T-shirt, the other a shaved headed black man with Elvis Costello glasses. They introduced themselves to me. The Spaniard's name was Martine. I told him people thought I was a deejay; he patted me on the back and said, "No, no...!"
There was a deejay already there, already playing music. I was enjoying it, enjoying dancing with Martine and all the other Parisians. M&M ended up on the couch watching the crowd.
Finally, I was ready to go. I told them; they were ready to go, too. We weren't going together. They were taking a cab to their hotel, I was hoping to take a subway (if they weren't closed, if it wasn't after 1 a.m. - I found that out the hard way a couple of nights earlier). As we were standing outside saying our goodbyes, Martine appeared with two helmets. I joked that I needed a ride; Ma told Martine he should give me a ride. Martine said okay. He was heading to the north of the City, I was heading to Bastille; it worked for him.
I said my goodbyes to M&M and followed Martine around a dark corner to a bunch of scooters. He handed me one of the helmets, said it was his daughter's, and insisted I wear it, "Because I'm very, very drunk." I was stone cold sober.
I didn't care. I pulled the tight little helmet onto my head, climbed onto the back of Martine's scooter and took a thrill ride through the wet streets of Paris with the scooter crossing lanes willy-nilly when he turned to say something to me that I could hardly understand anyway.
I could've died. I didn't care.
I left Mme. Rey's at 11:15, took the subway to the Gare du Nord Station, where the airport train leaves from, and spent more than an hour trying to figure out where to go, how to buy a ticket (which included finding a ticket machine then walking around the station - a long walk - and then to two stores to buy small items to get the right coinage for the machine, then finding the machine again).
I'm not happy here. I feel stressed about money. I'm going to the airport to see if I can get my ticket changed from Sunday to Saturday. I also wanted to do a practice run on getting to the airport by train. Good thing.
Last night was actually the best time I've had here, but it was a fluke. M&M and I went to a club called Andy Wahloo last night. It was in an alley on the way to another club we were looking for - a French cabaret. People seemed to think I was a famous deejay. Half a dozen people came up to me, several of them asked me specifically if I was the deejay or a deejay, or DJ Magic (I think)--
Ma went to the bar to get drinks, Me went to the bathroom, I stood in the middle of the room waving back at the people who were waving excitedly at me. When Ma returned, I told him what was happening, he said, "What did you say?" I told him I told them no. He said, "Don't do that! Tell them you ARE the deejay. What does it matter?"
Me came out of the bathroom eventually followed closely by two gay guys - or so we assumed - one a Spaniard with a low-cut T-shirt, the other a shaved headed black man with Elvis Costello glasses. They introduced themselves to me. The Spaniard's name was Martine. I told him people thought I was a deejay; he patted me on the back and said, "No, no...!"
There was a deejay already there, already playing music. I was enjoying it, enjoying dancing with Martine and all the other Parisians. M&M ended up on the couch watching the crowd.
Finally, I was ready to go. I told them; they were ready to go, too. We weren't going together. They were taking a cab to their hotel, I was hoping to take a subway (if they weren't closed, if it wasn't after 1 a.m. - I found that out the hard way a couple of nights earlier). As we were standing outside saying our goodbyes, Martine appeared with two helmets. I joked that I needed a ride; Ma told Martine he should give me a ride. Martine said okay. He was heading to the north of the City, I was heading to Bastille; it worked for him.
I said my goodbyes to M&M and followed Martine around a dark corner to a bunch of scooters. He handed me one of the helmets, said it was his daughter's, and insisted I wear it, "Because I'm very, very drunk." I was stone cold sober.
I didn't care. I pulled the tight little helmet onto my head, climbed onto the back of Martine's scooter and took a thrill ride through the wet streets of Paris with the scooter crossing lanes willy-nilly when he turned to say something to me that I could hardly understand anyway.
I could've died. I didn't care.
Monday, April 13, 2009
paris journal
12:30 a.m.I cried through my meditation again and it wasn't all about C. I think I realized something important. I don't feel like I fit in anywhere. Most of the time. I can fake it sometimes, I guess, but I don't feel like I really fit in. And the weird thing is, I think most people think I do fit in. I mean this group of people I'm in Paris with, and I mean C and P and M&J and even S.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
paris journal
11:15 pmStopped for a tiramisu and mint tea on the way home from dinner, the first celebration of John in a three-day memorial for my friend who died a year ago tomorrow.
It is important to remember that this is the purpose of this trip. I am struggling with other parts of the trip which will surely become more clear in time but right now just feel like an undercurrent of dissatisfaction ... or something.
It is important to remember that this is the purpose of this trip. I am struggling with other parts of the trip which will surely become more clear in time but right now just feel like an undercurrent of dissatisfaction ... or something.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
paris journal
5:00 p.m.I walked from the Eiffel Tower to St. Michel (a long way) and got on a subway there to come home and pee because I could find no public toilettes. I considered several times stopping at a cafe for thé and a crepe (and to pee) but I couldn't find any place I wanted to stop in.
I got a cheap (€2,50) souvenir from a pickpocket. I was walking along the Seine and as I took the stairs up to the road a young woman was calling after me, telling me I dropped something. It was a man's ring.
"Is it gold?" she asked, all agog.
"I don't know. I think so. It's not mine," I said and gave it back.
She put it on each of her fingers. "Too big."
"Try your thumb!" I said.
It didn't work. She handed it to me. "For you," she said. "It's your lucky day."
So I was a little gullible, but not stupid. I turned to leave, she came running after me asking if I had some money so she could get a sandwich. I fished a euro out of my pocket. She asked for €5.
"A sandwich costs €5."
I fished out more, but she asked again. I gave her all of my change (€2,60) and she asked again. For some reason, I was wise enough not to take out my wallet, with my last 50 in it. I said, "I'm sorry," and walked on, twirling the ring on my finger.
A short while later, I saw an older couple sitting on a park bench; a young man walking past bent over in front of them, picked up a gold ring and said to the couple, "Ooh, did you drop this?" The old man on the bench said, "No chance!" He and the woman laughed.
---
Mme. Rey continues to amaze and mystify. Every time I go into the apartment she remembers to tell me another thing I did improperly or she forgot previously. Today's episode: "I must tell you to leave the paper in the toilette long. You always make it too short. Like on Saturday, you left it so short I was obligated to open the box to pull it out." She went on to repeat this in slightly different ways three times or more. "Leave the toilet paper long" has become my mantra for my stay with Mme. Rey.
I got a cheap (€2,50) souvenir from a pickpocket. I was walking along the Seine and as I took the stairs up to the road a young woman was calling after me, telling me I dropped something. It was a man's ring.
"Is it gold?" she asked, all agog.
"I don't know. I think so. It's not mine," I said and gave it back.
She put it on each of her fingers. "Too big."
"Try your thumb!" I said.
It didn't work. She handed it to me. "For you," she said. "It's your lucky day."
So I was a little gullible, but not stupid. I turned to leave, she came running after me asking if I had some money so she could get a sandwich. I fished a euro out of my pocket. She asked for €5.
"A sandwich costs €5."
I fished out more, but she asked again. I gave her all of my change (€2,60) and she asked again. For some reason, I was wise enough not to take out my wallet, with my last 50 in it. I said, "I'm sorry," and walked on, twirling the ring on my finger.
A short while later, I saw an older couple sitting on a park bench; a young man walking past bent over in front of them, picked up a gold ring and said to the couple, "Ooh, did you drop this?" The old man on the bench said, "No chance!" He and the woman laughed.
---
Mme. Rey continues to amaze and mystify. Every time I go into the apartment she remembers to tell me another thing I did improperly or she forgot previously. Today's episode: "I must tell you to leave the paper in the toilette long. You always make it too short. Like on Saturday, you left it so short I was obligated to open the box to pull it out." She went on to repeat this in slightly different ways three times or more. "Leave the toilet paper long" has become my mantra for my stay with Mme. Rey.
Friday, April 10, 2009
paris journal
Monday 23 March 1:30 p.m.I'm feeling the money pinch today after giving the woman at the yoga studio €48 for a week pass and mat fees.
I haven't bought but one of my own meals so far. Yikes!
Today I'm heading to the Eiffel Tower. I'll meet up with the group for dinner tonight at 8. but am feeling a little overwhelmed by their chatter and my lack of funds. A didn't give me any money. Maybe she'll give it to me at some point, but I don't feel comfortable asking for it, since she doesn't owe it to me or anything.
I've been meditating regularly - 30 minutes morning and night - which feels very sane. Last night I started crying thinking about (doing Metta {loving-kindness practice" for) C. I don't know what it's about. We were so close and now it feels like a struggle to be far away from one another. I tried to just be with the feeling, and so I was, and it passed, but the passing was temporary. I kept sobbing for most of the 30-minute sit, no matter how I tried to continue down my Metta list of "close friends."
I didn't charge my phone this morning and now I only have 1/3 juice for pictures. C'est la vie.
Mme. Rey continues to be a loony-pain, but it has to do with the language barrier, so I am trying not to get bent out of shape. Last night I told her I was going to yoga and wouldn't have breakfast this morning. She seemed to understand, asked if I wanted it when I returned. I said that would be nice and told her I would be back at 11:30 (I'm thinking that's what she probably didn't understand). She did say, however, "So I can sleep in in the morning. Thank you." As if I was doing it for her. (No, that was just probably a funny language quirk.)
At 8 a.m. this morning she knocked on the door between her bedroom and mine, I was asleep but made a noise which she obviously didn't hear, then she started through my room, saw me and turned back. When I got back from yoga, she apologized for coming into my bedroom. "But you said you wanted to eat at 8 o'clock, so I thought you were already up and gone."
She asked if I wanted something then (at 11:30), I said, "If it's possible." She said, "Yes, it is possible." and gave me the usual. I tried to explain that I want breakfast the same time the next three mornings; we'll see if she got it in the morning.
--I'm at the Eiffel Tower but decided not to go up. It has the feel of an amusement park - tourists, cotton candy, etc., and it's €12 to go to the top, and I'm thinking, "What for?"
At the subway stop, two British women approached me and asked me to play a part in a film they're making for a couple of friends who are getting married. They asked me to talk about the guy, Christophe. On camera, one woman took out a photo, said she was looking for her lost friends and asked if I knew or had seen either of them. It was up to me to improvise. I said I knew Christophe, met him a couple of weeks ago at a crepe stand, and was looking for him myself and thought I might see him at the Eiffel Tower. She asked why. I said because he kept talking about it, mentioned that his crepe looked like the shape of the Tower, and he was going there to get a crepe. It didn't make a lot of sense but it was fun.
I had French fries (feh!) but I really want a crepe now and there are no crepe stands here. Imagine that.
I haven't bought but one of my own meals so far. Yikes!
Today I'm heading to the Eiffel Tower. I'll meet up with the group for dinner tonight at 8. but am feeling a little overwhelmed by their chatter and my lack of funds. A didn't give me any money. Maybe she'll give it to me at some point, but I don't feel comfortable asking for it, since she doesn't owe it to me or anything.
I've been meditating regularly - 30 minutes morning and night - which feels very sane. Last night I started crying thinking about (doing Metta {loving-kindness practice" for) C. I don't know what it's about. We were so close and now it feels like a struggle to be far away from one another. I tried to just be with the feeling, and so I was, and it passed, but the passing was temporary. I kept sobbing for most of the 30-minute sit, no matter how I tried to continue down my Metta list of "close friends."
I didn't charge my phone this morning and now I only have 1/3 juice for pictures. C'est la vie.
Mme. Rey continues to be a loony-pain, but it has to do with the language barrier, so I am trying not to get bent out of shape. Last night I told her I was going to yoga and wouldn't have breakfast this morning. She seemed to understand, asked if I wanted it when I returned. I said that would be nice and told her I would be back at 11:30 (I'm thinking that's what she probably didn't understand). She did say, however, "So I can sleep in in the morning. Thank you." As if I was doing it for her. (No, that was just probably a funny language quirk.)
At 8 a.m. this morning she knocked on the door between her bedroom and mine, I was asleep but made a noise which she obviously didn't hear, then she started through my room, saw me and turned back. When I got back from yoga, she apologized for coming into my bedroom. "But you said you wanted to eat at 8 o'clock, so I thought you were already up and gone."
She asked if I wanted something then (at 11:30), I said, "If it's possible." She said, "Yes, it is possible." and gave me the usual. I tried to explain that I want breakfast the same time the next three mornings; we'll see if she got it in the morning.
--I'm at the Eiffel Tower but decided not to go up. It has the feel of an amusement park - tourists, cotton candy, etc., and it's €12 to go to the top, and I'm thinking, "What for?"
At the subway stop, two British women approached me and asked me to play a part in a film they're making for a couple of friends who are getting married. They asked me to talk about the guy, Christophe. On camera, one woman took out a photo, said she was looking for her lost friends and asked if I knew or had seen either of them. It was up to me to improvise. I said I knew Christophe, met him a couple of weeks ago at a crepe stand, and was looking for him myself and thought I might see him at the Eiffel Tower. She asked why. I said because he kept talking about it, mentioned that his crepe looked like the shape of the Tower, and he was going there to get a crepe. It didn't make a lot of sense but it was fun.
I had French fries (feh!) but I really want a crepe now and there are no crepe stands here. Imagine that.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
paris journal
Sunday 22 March 2:15 p.m.I'm at a Moroccan restaurant feeling very out of place and a bit lost. I'm on my way to A's hotel because I can't call her on my phone, can't figure out how to use the public phones, and Mme. Rey only has a cell phone and I'm not too sure about her.
I got home at about 11:30 last night and she was sitting in front of the TV watching a bunch of Catholic priests (or something) shuffling around and chanting. The background music sounded like a cross between Jean Michel Jarre and the music from that 70s TV show, "In Search Of..." Mme. Rey asked me what time I wanted breakfast the next morning, and looking at the time, I said, "I don't know, eight?"
She jumped out of her skin. "No! This is too EARLY! I have to get out of BED!"
I said, "Okay, when is good?"
She thought a moment, put the sentence together in her head, then said, "How about a quarter to nine?"
I managed to meditate for 30 minutes on two folded-in-half pillows with the TV blasting, Mme. Rey talking on the phone, and a group of actors(?) in the courtyard making "scary" hawn-hawn-hawn noises.
I put in earplugs, an eye mask and slept hard, even though the bed was too short.
In the middle of a dream in which a very masculine person was talking to me and then someone else was telling me it was a woman, Mme. Rey rapped on the bedroom door.
I said, "Yes? Hello?"
No response.
I figured out where I was, got up, dressed, went to the toilette then brushed my teeth and went into the living room.
"Did you sleep?"
"Yes," I answered, "I slept very well."
"You see? And you wanted me to get up at 8, and it's almost 9!"
(It was 8:34.)
She gave me her chair in front of the TV, apologized for not having CNN because it "costs a little dollars more," but offered me the BBC, which I declined. She gave me one cup of English Breakfast tea, a half glass of fresh-squeezed OJ, a glass container of sheep yogurt I bought yesterday at a grocery store (a 4-pack, because I thought the containers would make good juice glasses back home) and a croissant. She burned the first croissant and blamed me ("When I wake up with the alarm I am wonky." She didn't say wonky, but made a gesture which can best be described as "wonky!").
Oh, and last night she scolded me for hanging my toiletries bag on a round drawer pull on a dresser which is "worth much money, like the table" at bedside. That was understandable, but it was just one more crazy thing from Mme. Rey.
Today, I meditated then walked through the Jardin des Plantes (Garden of Plants?!) then to the mosque where there is a hospital, a restaurant and a Turkish bath. I was there about three hours. Very interesting, beautiful, steamy.
I came out and had a crepe with Nutella and banana then walked toward A's hotel but stopped here {at the Moroccan restaurant} on the way because I was starving.
And now I'm stuffed.
I got home at about 11:30 last night and she was sitting in front of the TV watching a bunch of Catholic priests (or something) shuffling around and chanting. The background music sounded like a cross between Jean Michel Jarre and the music from that 70s TV show, "In Search Of..." Mme. Rey asked me what time I wanted breakfast the next morning, and looking at the time, I said, "I don't know, eight?"
She jumped out of her skin. "No! This is too EARLY! I have to get out of BED!"
I said, "Okay, when is good?"
She thought a moment, put the sentence together in her head, then said, "How about a quarter to nine?"
I managed to meditate for 30 minutes on two folded-in-half pillows with the TV blasting, Mme. Rey talking on the phone, and a group of actors(?) in the courtyard making "scary" hawn-hawn-hawn noises.
I put in earplugs, an eye mask and slept hard, even though the bed was too short.
In the middle of a dream in which a very masculine person was talking to me and then someone else was telling me it was a woman, Mme. Rey rapped on the bedroom door.
I said, "Yes? Hello?"
No response.
I figured out where I was, got up, dressed, went to the toilette then brushed my teeth and went into the living room.
"Did you sleep?"
"Yes," I answered, "I slept very well."
"You see? And you wanted me to get up at 8, and it's almost 9!"
(It was 8:34.)
She gave me her chair in front of the TV, apologized for not having CNN because it "costs a little dollars more," but offered me the BBC, which I declined. She gave me one cup of English Breakfast tea, a half glass of fresh-squeezed OJ, a glass container of sheep yogurt I bought yesterday at a grocery store (a 4-pack, because I thought the containers would make good juice glasses back home) and a croissant. She burned the first croissant and blamed me ("When I wake up with the alarm I am wonky." She didn't say wonky, but made a gesture which can best be described as "wonky!").
Oh, and last night she scolded me for hanging my toiletries bag on a round drawer pull on a dresser which is "worth much money, like the table" at bedside. That was understandable, but it was just one more crazy thing from Mme. Rey.
Today, I meditated then walked through the Jardin des Plantes (Garden of Plants?!) then to the mosque where there is a hospital, a restaurant and a Turkish bath. I was there about three hours. Very interesting, beautiful, steamy.
I came out and had a crepe with Nutella and banana then walked toward A's hotel but stopped here {at the Moroccan restaurant} on the way because I was starving.
And now I'm stuffed.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
paris journal
4:45 p.m.We walked around at A's pace. I had to just let the day be, plod behind her, try to help when she asked for help, let it go when she cut me off and ignored my help (while thanking me for it).
We had omelets at the Metro Café next to the Oberkampf subway stop, walked and rode to the Place des Vosges and had a snack - me a tarte du jour, her fish soup, both of us espresso, her also a wine.
We walked to the Picasso Museum but were too exhausted to pay for a ticket. She took a taxi back to her hotel, I walked back to Mme. Rey's apt. - very cool room in a sweet toothless old widow's place.
The room is decorated with Tibetan art from magazines, postcards, books, and a pretty statue of a young Buddha she told me she won in a lottery.
Now I'm gonna shower and head back to A's hotel for dinner I guess. Got to keep awake so I can start tomorrow right - no curtains in my room.
We had omelets at the Metro Café next to the Oberkampf subway stop, walked and rode to the Place des Vosges and had a snack - me a tarte du jour, her fish soup, both of us espresso, her also a wine.
We walked to the Picasso Museum but were too exhausted to pay for a ticket. She took a taxi back to her hotel, I walked back to Mme. Rey's apt. - very cool room in a sweet toothless old widow's place.
The room is decorated with Tibetan art from magazines, postcards, books, and a pretty statue of a young Buddha she told me she won in a lottery.
Now I'm gonna shower and head back to A's hotel for dinner I guess. Got to keep awake so I can start tomorrow right - no curtains in my room.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
paris journal
Saturday, March 20, 9:00 a.m.I lifted the window shade and saw the Seine snaking through the countryside and plumes of smoke from stacks unmoving and tricking me into thinking they were some kind of statues for a moment.
The land is cut up into irregular squares, verdant and earthy red with clusters of buildings at some of the corners, communities or country roads.
As we near the end of the flight, patches of unfarmed land grow bigger, the clusters of buildings get bigger and more uniform, the country roads widen and become more silvery and the river comes around the bend like a long shiny green snake. On the opposite bank, buildings congregate at the water like pigeons waiting for something that may never come. And the landscape turns industrial.
The plane tips to the left and the bright morning sun pours in and warms my face and melts the frost on the outside of the window.
Traffic circles! Cars and trucks creep by on an eight-lane highway like busy ants. {??} shapes in a bright green patch - is that a golf course?
The river and the tightly packed houses in its elbow, red roofs and windows catching the sunlight, winking up at me as if to say, "We are here!" and "Look at me!"
A sewage treatment plant with a canal running off of the river; here the green water turns oily black. Several tall buildings in the distance poke up through the haze. Nearer, apartment buildings zigzag through the streets like block letter Ms and Ls.
A farm - two patches of red, three of green - looks out of place next to the jagged terrain. And then more farmland, with a commuter train cutting through it, then a factory, where the farmland turns dull sand-colored and eighteen-wheelers {actually ten-wheelers in France} wait in a parking lot. This gives way to the airport - Charles De Galle. Landing.
Bon jour, Paris!
--
The airport was very quiet. In fact, the only thing I heard was my traveling companion saying over and over how quite the airport was.
The land is cut up into irregular squares, verdant and earthy red with clusters of buildings at some of the corners, communities or country roads.
As we near the end of the flight, patches of unfarmed land grow bigger, the clusters of buildings get bigger and more uniform, the country roads widen and become more silvery and the river comes around the bend like a long shiny green snake. On the opposite bank, buildings congregate at the water like pigeons waiting for something that may never come. And the landscape turns industrial.
The plane tips to the left and the bright morning sun pours in and warms my face and melts the frost on the outside of the window.
Traffic circles! Cars and trucks creep by on an eight-lane highway like busy ants. {??} shapes in a bright green patch - is that a golf course?
The river and the tightly packed houses in its elbow, red roofs and windows catching the sunlight, winking up at me as if to say, "We are here!" and "Look at me!"
A sewage treatment plant with a canal running off of the river; here the green water turns oily black. Several tall buildings in the distance poke up through the haze. Nearer, apartment buildings zigzag through the streets like block letter Ms and Ls.
A farm - two patches of red, three of green - looks out of place next to the jagged terrain. And then more farmland, with a commuter train cutting through it, then a factory, where the farmland turns dull sand-colored and eighteen-wheelers {actually ten-wheelers in France} wait in a parking lot. This gives way to the airport - Charles De Galle. Landing.
Bon jour, Paris!
--
The airport was very quiet. In fact, the only thing I heard was my traveling companion saying over and over how quite the airport was.
Monday, April 6, 2009
paris journal
Friday 20 March, 5:30 a.m.And so the journey begins. I don't know if I've ever been so prepared or relaxed for a trip. I woke up at 2:30 this morning - 8:30 Paris time, quite respectable! - meditated, then got on the computer to see how far it is from my B&B to A's hotel (she texted me the info I asked for in the middle of the night). 36 minutes walking time. No problem at all. I walk down Blvd. Richard Lenoir to the Bastille monument/traffic circle, then onto Blve. King Henry, over Pont de Sully (a brige over the Seine, I'm thinking?), left/right/left and I'm there.
A was originally going to be on the near side of the river, but she changed hotels to be closer to P&N - to the Left Bank, twice as far from me. Not that I care so much, but she said she felt bad and offered-- no, insisted on paying half of my B&B. I didn't protest too much since I am feeling a bit strapped and since my mother intimated that she was sending me something for my trip (which I assumed was $) but she never did, or hasn't yet.
I took $300 out of my savings account and got another 96 by cashing in my change at one of those CoinStar machines. I was surprised and delighted! I don't need much - I only intend to get a souvenir for a 6-year-old and mabe a nice straw hat for myself - but I would hate to run out of money. I want to be as prepared as possible in case A forgets to give me money.
A was originally going to be on the near side of the river, but she changed hotels to be closer to P&N - to the Left Bank, twice as far from me. Not that I care so much, but she said she felt bad and offered-- no, insisted on paying half of my B&B. I didn't protest too much since I am feeling a bit strapped and since my mother intimated that she was sending me something for my trip (which I assumed was $) but she never did, or hasn't yet.
I took $300 out of my savings account and got another 96 by cashing in my change at one of those CoinStar machines. I was surprised and delighted! I don't need much - I only intend to get a souvenir for a 6-year-old and mabe a nice straw hat for myself - but I would hate to run out of money. I want to be as prepared as possible in case A forgets to give me money.
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