Wednesday, August 30, 2006

everything changed, then changed again

On the heels of a startlingly difficult, aggro-intense project comes a gift so simple - yet so profound, and so jaw-dropping, and so hoped-for and longed-for and almost discounted.

We sit under a mantle of starless sky and twinkling city, near-buried under skyscrapers. This restaurant is excellent without being unnecessarily fussy, and we're nursing glasses of a smoky, tannic tempranillo as we inspect the lit windows of the hotel across the street for shenanigans. We're waiting for our crayons to arrive; this fancy-pants restaurant has paper over the linen tablecloths, and it's clear that no restaurant that dresses the tables thusly would dare to shirk the sacred reponsibility of crayon supply.

You're thinking about something that matters. I can always tell. I try to tease out the not-matter stuff, 'cause I love to burrow down into your thought process - but especially because I like how your lips move when you talk, and how the deeps of your voice nuzzle my eardrums. But this time, it matters. I can tell you're going to speak, so I finger the stem of my glass and wait for it.

I don't think I could have prepared myself for what came next.

"I think we should either go to Italy this winter," you said, "Or move to Europe next spring."

I could feel every heartbeat.


Friday, August 25, 2006


This has been an extraordinarily weird, trying week.


Exciting, sure. Whirlwind, sure. But extremely, chillingly alienating.

My body has been screaming for attention - for touch, for comfort. To be wrapped up in warm and to have succour pushed into me through my worn-thin skin. I'm so raw; so needy; so unsure of where these steps are carrying me.

I feel like I've had my teeth knocked out all over the room, and I'm scrabbling around in the dark for another shared dream because my own are still so nebulous and unformed.

All I know is that I'm a gypsy - that my blood runs hot with wanderlust, and that this ache is only rubbed away with a good, hard run into the unknown.


I saw a really incredible thing the other day, and watched it again today - but I can't tell you about it. I want to. I guess everybody will see it soon enough, but I feel (justifiably!) like I'm being watched. It unnerves me.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Today is a worky, worky, worky day. Very worky.

So, in the early winter we shall escape. We shall fly to Florence. We shall rent a bike. We shall stay in one of these and it'll be full of this and this and this.

It's settled, then.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias


When is fear properly motivated? When is fear healthy?

I realized yesterday that I need to evaluate my feelings of fear very closely.

'Cause really, I'm not as much of a pussy as I was getting so furious at myself for being. Sure, there are things I'm afraid of that I shouldn't be afraid of. But y'know what? I tackle them. Head-on. My motivations may have been deeply, deeply flawed in a few cases, but damnit - I have not shrunk.


I feel naked, sometimes, with all my talking. I don't know why I admit what I admit; especially in those moments when there's no relief in the telling. When I'm just laid bare in my gaping imperfections, all insecurity and open wounds, and there isn't a thing that can be said in response that doesn't sound ungenuine and hollow. When I'm too far gone to comfort.

When I let the part of me that really doesn't care for me very much do all the talking. And lately, it has been amazing how much that part of me has to say.

This morning, mulling over what my internal and external monologues have sounded like over the past few days, I'm pink with fury at myself for listening to any of it.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

meet hank

Bear is from San Francisco. So it makes perfect sense that he's a sourdough fan.

I've never made sourdough, but I'm always more than willing to experiment. So I decided to forge ahead and make some natural sourdough starter.

Bear, being something of a germphobe, was a touch dismayed when I described the process of sourdough-craft to him. It's sort of like bacteria-gardening. You mix up some flour and some lukewarm water until it makes a ball the consistency of week-old Play-Doh, put in in a bowl, slap some plastic wrap over it, and 'feed' it a couple times a day until it's bubbling and piquant with life.

The dough starter has been going for a couple of days now, and I showed it to Bear this morning. As it is alive, he insisted on naming it.

So now Hank, the new member of the family, lives on top of our refrigerator.

Monday, August 07, 2006

oh, man...

Here it goes again.

And people wonder how they fit into those tight little pants, year after year...