San Francisco beckons to me all the time. When I visit, I’m surrounded by beautiful people and big hugs and cheek kisses and a city that has growth policies I respect.
So, last weekend, even though by all financial standards I shouldn’t have made a trip a week before Christmas, I went. To see Queenie and Carl and Frank and Grace and all of my other friends that were working Dickens Faire. I couldn’t have made the drive by myself, so luckily Mattie was down to go and drove with me.
We arrive. The hotel came very highly reviewed and was relatively cheap (but not the bottom of the barrel… all good signs), and was off of Market. And about a block away from the Tenderloin. Hm. Pulling up, there was a pack of homeless dudes shouting about one being the King of Everything, which made me think of that Sara Barielles song, and I wanted to ask him who made him the King of Anything, but naturally, I value my life, so I kept walking. The front desk guy was an absolute idiot (turns out he’s the owner’s cousin..OF COURSE, or he would’ve been fired) and when we get to our room, we can’t help but laugh. There are cheesy jungle scenes painted along the upper edge of the wall, the beds are two small, shaky, twin beds, and the shower head looks like it’s been there since 1973. We wander up Market, past drunks that couldn’t walk and small Asian women bundled in 12 jackets hurriedly sifting through the dumpsters. I cut off the bite marks on what’s left of my pizza and leave it on the edge of a trashcan so someone who’s hungry won’t have to sift for it. When I walk by 5 minutes later, it’s gone, and I smile.
We try to sleep, but the ice machine and ancient elevator thump through our paper thin walls all night and we wake up tired and short-tempered. I go downstairs, politely ask to check out and when I’m told that I can’t without a 24 hr warning, I politely throw a bitch fit and get moved to a more adequate room. Matt and I move our bags and head out to Dickens.
After finally getting inside, I can see his face light up. He’s never been to an indoors faire like this, and I can see that he’s marveling at the transformation. There are shows on every corner and he meets my wonderful friends and we eat wonderful food and wander, buying a few nifty cups and leaving early. We stop by Frank’s apartment which, funnily enough, is two blocks away from our shitty hotel. He’s being a gem and picking up his best friend/roommate from work so she doesn’t have to bike in the rain, but recommends we wait for him at a café around the corner called Hooker’s Sweet Treats. We wander up Nob Hill, walking in the rain just because we’re young and capable and can, and finally get curious why we haven’t found it yet. I ask a lady if she’s heard of it and her expression flickers warily when I say Hooker’s. As soon as she realizes I’m referencing the café, she smiles and says she buys the sweet cheddar biscuits whenever she can, and as she walks away I actually take in what she’s wearing. I look at Matt and he’s shaking his head and laughing under his breath. “Did I just ask a legit hooker where Hooker’s was?” He laughs harder, and we continue downhill chuckling. Only here, I say. What a random story that’ll be.
We grab Frank and Jen, who I immediately fall in love with, and go to grab a bite at a Mexican joint. Quickly, because we have to pick up Queenie and Carl to go to the Castro Theater to see Tron. The hammered brass ceiling is a marvel, and I feel like a child staring up up up and smiling and the dark Buddhas and Indian gods that ring the center. The organist plays for ten before the curtain rises and the movie starts. Frank forgot to grab his 3D glasses to I have to go up to the lobby and grab him some, slipping on umbrellas and punching a woman in the head in the process. I go the other way coming back, and all the sweet queens are much more understanding then the bitchy lesbians on the other side.
I smile at Frank and kiss his cheek, happy that he’s here with us.
My guys and I wander the Castro afterwards, laughing at the antics of drunkies and discussing the more disgusting aspects of the city, like someone who shit in Frank’s lobby last week. They had to pressure wash it off of the wall. Ugh. I like being reminded of the unglamourousness of the city; it keeps me from feeling like an awestruck tourist.
We part ways with Carl and Queenie, giving big hugs and professing love. They’re my de facto gay husbands, we laugh. I’m going to move in to their new flat with them in three years when I’m done with my grad degree and we’re going to take San Fran by storm. We’ll buy a flat in one of the grand Victorian houses and they’ll be the uncles to my foster children.
Frank, Matt and I head over to where Jen is working her double shift of the day as a cook at a rad indie bar not too far from the Loin and the hotel. She makes me a stoner sandwich (nacho cheese Doritos in a grilled cheese with tomatoes) and Matt and I people watch and I smile at Frank as he sings cheesy rock songs and plays drums on his knees. I adore him so much it aches. I can feel it palpitate and pulse with the rhythm of my heart while I look at him, and I’m happy that my affection, while one-sided, has such a worthy recipient.
We go to leave and he says he’ll be leaving shortly after us, and shows me his brass knuckles that he keeps in his rear pocket to ward of zombies and crackies. Zombies, for those of you who might now know, is an endearing term for those who may not be on drugs but are still crazily wandering the streets anyway. He laughs loudly when he recounts the time he was almost mugged by the grocer outside his building; the guy said, “Hey, can I have your wallet?” And he showed his knuckles with a smile, and the guy smartly backed away, hands in the air, saying, “nevermind, friend.”
I hug him, big and deep outside. I push my face into the curve of his neck, deeply inhaling the herb scent that’s been on him all night. The sage he burned in his apartment earlier, maybe. I would hug him every moment of every day for the rest of my life if I could. If he was less of a conundrum. Of a heart confusing mystery. I still hope for a future that has him in it on a more regular basis, but I’m trying to keep it in check. I don’t want to love Frank so much that it’ll hurt me.
This is where the trip gets hilarious. We drive the few blocks back to our hotel, find amazing parking, and notice that it’s in a tow away zone for street cleaning the next morning. Whoops. Time to go hunting again, and we finally find something halfway back to the bar 40 minutes later. Walk back to the hotel. Hookers and drunkies and crackies and indie kids thinking it’s so posh to be in the Loin are raucous all around us. We get back to the hotel, note that the idiot is back on shift, and head up to our new and hopefully quieter hotel room. Why isn’t my key working? Mattie, try yours. Hm. What’s that sound? Is that…Russian? And sure as shit, a half naked Russian man opens the door, yelling at us, and I hear in broken English from a woman further in the room, “WHAT DO THEY WANT?!” as if we’re the people from downstairs suddenly manifested at her door, about to break in and ravish her old, soft, commie body. This is our room, I say. Where is our stuff?! And he points downstairs, and Matt and I look at each other in bewilderment that quickly becomes anger as I feel like a tornado rushing downstairs to unleash banshee hellfire on this fucking retarded establishment.
There sits our bags by a desk downstairs, easily accessible by any of the tweakers that wander this lobby, and I feel my fury bubbling up. I explain the situation, seemingly ten times over at this lumpy, stupid mass of man, and he keeps passing the buck to someone else. Look, I say. I know this isn’t your fault, but this is completely unacceptable, and you need to fix it. I want a nice room, right now, and I’m not going to pay for it. He does, lucky for him, and we go to bed. I’m happy you didn’t unleash on him, Matt says. Anyone who’s worked customer service has been in that position, but if it’s not fixed tomorrow, make the owner cry.
We sleep.
Al’s Diner the next morning with C and Q. Delicious food and being served by the oldest working waitress in the city. She serves Queenie a tomato soup that is “pure east coast; no one knows how to make it but my sister,” which is word-for-word what she said last time I ate here in the summer about the Navy bean soup. Needless to say, each was phenom, and we left fat and happy. Going down to Market, I found an antique silver fork, stamped in 1874, that was twisted and molded into a ring that was just my size and only five bucks. Finish it with a frog beanie and my shopping in the city was done. I was pretty proud about my restraint.
We drop off Queenie and Carl, hit Amoeba on Haight, where Matt gets the Pixies first record, and drive home. As we’re driving through Pomona, Matt gets the genius idea of hitting Aladdin Jr, one of our fave Mediterranean spots, and we do so, leaving again being happy as a clam.
I arrive home, tired, glowing, and so happy that I went. Financially, it was a flat-out stupid move, but I literally felt like killing myself before I went, and I had to run away to my favorite city to smile with my friends and kiss their cheeks and hold their hands and hug them to me to feel myself love vividly again and remember what life without pain can be like.
I feel like I’m counting the heartbeats before I can see them again. I love you, friends.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Junkyards.
My brother was taking his sweet time wrapping up a story when I (somewhat rudely) asked him, “Okay, okay, what’s the whole point of this?” To which he responded, “Hey, it was a good day.”
The simplicity of that. It was a good day. And I realized the next morning while I was eating pancakes across from Melanie and recounting yet another random series of events that the simple statement is the tip tap tempo of my life. It was a good day. Every day is a good day, and the days that aren’t are just sad hiccups between the last amazing 24 hours and the next one around the corner.
Yesterday I went to a junkyard to look for a carburetor for the Falcon with my brother. As we wandered the crunchy gravel and he bemoaned the fifty-year-old Jeep flatbed lying harvested next to crappy Ford escorts, I marveled at him. At myself. At the sad and desiccated beauty surrounding us; why do I think rusted metal is so pretty? And the haphazard tilt of the cars, their emblems strewn about on the ground, their insides pulled out and lying forgotten around their edges. Some of them caved in from accidents, some of them burned. There were people in them when that happened, I realize. I hope they got out alive. I wonder if they cried over the loss of the car the way my mom always has whenever one died; she would form an attachment to them as if they were pets, with emotions and temperaments and hidden agendas. There is oil everywhere, and my hands are covered in the slick grittiness from the grease and crud covering the carb we found and pulled out of an old Ford. My brother hooted at the find, almost sliced his head open, and bitched about being short within seconds of each other. He asks me every five minutes if I’m okay; he pretends that I’m complaining if I mention my arm whenever we’re around someone else or better yet, that I'm not hurt at all, but as soon as it’s just him and I, he doesn’t try to hide that he’s worried I’ll hurt myself, or get tired, or trip. His concern warms me in the chilly air as he looks up and begs for rain; it’s 50% off anything we buy if it rains, he explains. We look up expectantly, both of us more willing to be soaked in a car with no heater than pay full price for our finds.
I find a gear in the bed of a truck. It’s perfect, with “Made in the USA” stamped boldly on the back. I grab it, feeling like a thief. The unexpected beauty of the day is washing away the fear that I woke up to.
I dreamt of work, which made me anxious, and then it became me sitting in a hospital with Cesar next to me, holding my hand, and all the truths of us rushed to me, and I asked him to leave. If you don’t love me the way I will love you if you stay, my dreamself says, you need to leave and never come back. He left, because my subconscious knows what my heart doesn’t want to recognize; as much as we laugh and smile and are sweet to each other, my heart is open and his is not, at least not to me. And while building walls to try and match his feel as futile as building sandcastles in high tide, I need to. Because my dream and the subsequent tears that followed tell me only one thing; I will fall in love with someone who will never love me back if I’m not careful, and that’s life.
It was a good day. And it reminded me that I need to focus on the people who do love me, like my brother and my friends and my family, and to disregard the people who don’t. Why focus on a minority when I have such an overwhelming majority? One versus one-hundred?
I love you, and am thankful for you loving me. And for reminding me that I deserve nothing but people who do the same.
The simplicity of that. It was a good day. And I realized the next morning while I was eating pancakes across from Melanie and recounting yet another random series of events that the simple statement is the tip tap tempo of my life. It was a good day. Every day is a good day, and the days that aren’t are just sad hiccups between the last amazing 24 hours and the next one around the corner.
Yesterday I went to a junkyard to look for a carburetor for the Falcon with my brother. As we wandered the crunchy gravel and he bemoaned the fifty-year-old Jeep flatbed lying harvested next to crappy Ford escorts, I marveled at him. At myself. At the sad and desiccated beauty surrounding us; why do I think rusted metal is so pretty? And the haphazard tilt of the cars, their emblems strewn about on the ground, their insides pulled out and lying forgotten around their edges. Some of them caved in from accidents, some of them burned. There were people in them when that happened, I realize. I hope they got out alive. I wonder if they cried over the loss of the car the way my mom always has whenever one died; she would form an attachment to them as if they were pets, with emotions and temperaments and hidden agendas. There is oil everywhere, and my hands are covered in the slick grittiness from the grease and crud covering the carb we found and pulled out of an old Ford. My brother hooted at the find, almost sliced his head open, and bitched about being short within seconds of each other. He asks me every five minutes if I’m okay; he pretends that I’m complaining if I mention my arm whenever we’re around someone else or better yet, that I'm not hurt at all, but as soon as it’s just him and I, he doesn’t try to hide that he’s worried I’ll hurt myself, or get tired, or trip. His concern warms me in the chilly air as he looks up and begs for rain; it’s 50% off anything we buy if it rains, he explains. We look up expectantly, both of us more willing to be soaked in a car with no heater than pay full price for our finds.
I find a gear in the bed of a truck. It’s perfect, with “Made in the USA” stamped boldly on the back. I grab it, feeling like a thief. The unexpected beauty of the day is washing away the fear that I woke up to.
I dreamt of work, which made me anxious, and then it became me sitting in a hospital with Cesar next to me, holding my hand, and all the truths of us rushed to me, and I asked him to leave. If you don’t love me the way I will love you if you stay, my dreamself says, you need to leave and never come back. He left, because my subconscious knows what my heart doesn’t want to recognize; as much as we laugh and smile and are sweet to each other, my heart is open and his is not, at least not to me. And while building walls to try and match his feel as futile as building sandcastles in high tide, I need to. Because my dream and the subsequent tears that followed tell me only one thing; I will fall in love with someone who will never love me back if I’m not careful, and that’s life.
It was a good day. And it reminded me that I need to focus on the people who do love me, like my brother and my friends and my family, and to disregard the people who don’t. Why focus on a minority when I have such an overwhelming majority? One versus one-hundred?
I love you, and am thankful for you loving me. And for reminding me that I deserve nothing but people who do the same.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Be yourself, and be thankful.
It's Thanksgiving. I'm sure that blogs about being thankful are going to be springing up everywhere on the interwebs, but I have to say, (and NO, please don't interpret this as me being pretentious or whatnot): the feelings of gratitude I have today are not different from what I feel on every aware day.
By aware day, I mean the times that I can pull my head out of the daily craze and haze and pay attention to what I have and be utterly gratuitous for it. The days it's just me and divinity and the love I have for it all. Which are more occuring more frequently, I'm happy to say. I don't know what the difference is...age, settling into my own skin? Whatever the cause, being thankful is a frequent thing for me now.
My cousin Tam got engaged last night to a really good guy. I've liked him for her since he came to meet the whole family like a champ, and last night he proposed to her. They're this wonderful couple; artistic, supportive of each other, plugged in to God, morality, and ethics. As I've grown older and so have the members of my family, I've noticed that I have an intense pride about who we all are. We're nothing phenomenal in terms of degrees or accomplishments or wages, but those don't define the greatness of people anyway, do they? We're such good people. The aspects of us as unit that marred my earlier memories (the pettiness, resentment, et cetera) has faded now, and we're wonderful. I love seeing them, and talking to them, and hearing about their lives.
All of my families are such blessings. I look at my life and more often than not, marvel. I was listening to that "Eat, Pray, Love" trailer and when Julia Roberts says "I want to go somewhere I can marvel", it made me think about how lucky I am that I can do that any time I focus on what I have and not on what isn't going my way.
Another thing I read today that made me happy was from my friend's blog. Friend? Hm. Ex-lover, really. We never talked much before or after our interlude, but I was a notable threshold before he left on this epic life journey, and we've been keeping in contact since. Anyway, he's lost a lot of weight since he left, and he was so full of self-loathing when I knew him that this new shedding is completely redefining how he sees himself. I naturally look at myself when I read his deep, introspective thoughts about how he's changing and I wonder: why don't I think those things? Or even along those lines? And then it hit me.
I never hated myself. Never really loathed me. I got surgery to help with my pain and my health, not because I hated being big. Now that I've lost weight, I can't imagine going back to the size I was and I monitor it closely, but I don't think so much on weight-loss like him and other friends I know because I wasn't disgusted with myself beforehand. That's nice to know. Another inherent gift to be thankful for.
Those are enough early morning ramblings for one day. I hope you have a great holiday with your family, reader.
Love,
Erin
By aware day, I mean the times that I can pull my head out of the daily craze and haze and pay attention to what I have and be utterly gratuitous for it. The days it's just me and divinity and the love I have for it all. Which are more occuring more frequently, I'm happy to say. I don't know what the difference is...age, settling into my own skin? Whatever the cause, being thankful is a frequent thing for me now.
My cousin Tam got engaged last night to a really good guy. I've liked him for her since he came to meet the whole family like a champ, and last night he proposed to her. They're this wonderful couple; artistic, supportive of each other, plugged in to God, morality, and ethics. As I've grown older and so have the members of my family, I've noticed that I have an intense pride about who we all are. We're nothing phenomenal in terms of degrees or accomplishments or wages, but those don't define the greatness of people anyway, do they? We're such good people. The aspects of us as unit that marred my earlier memories (the pettiness, resentment, et cetera) has faded now, and we're wonderful. I love seeing them, and talking to them, and hearing about their lives.
All of my families are such blessings. I look at my life and more often than not, marvel. I was listening to that "Eat, Pray, Love" trailer and when Julia Roberts says "I want to go somewhere I can marvel", it made me think about how lucky I am that I can do that any time I focus on what I have and not on what isn't going my way.
Another thing I read today that made me happy was from my friend's blog. Friend? Hm. Ex-lover, really. We never talked much before or after our interlude, but I was a notable threshold before he left on this epic life journey, and we've been keeping in contact since. Anyway, he's lost a lot of weight since he left, and he was so full of self-loathing when I knew him that this new shedding is completely redefining how he sees himself. I naturally look at myself when I read his deep, introspective thoughts about how he's changing and I wonder: why don't I think those things? Or even along those lines? And then it hit me.
I never hated myself. Never really loathed me. I got surgery to help with my pain and my health, not because I hated being big. Now that I've lost weight, I can't imagine going back to the size I was and I monitor it closely, but I don't think so much on weight-loss like him and other friends I know because I wasn't disgusted with myself beforehand. That's nice to know. Another inherent gift to be thankful for.
Those are enough early morning ramblings for one day. I hope you have a great holiday with your family, reader.
Love,
Erin
Monday, November 22, 2010
mirror, mirror.
I'm housesitting for my aunt and she has this massive mirror that faces the hallway.
As the dogs were eating their dinner I stood and stared into my own eyes for the first time in a long while. I looked at the hallway that saw my worst years. The worn bronze doorknob that was gripped in anger and frustration by hands covered in tears. The bathroom I hated my teenaged self in. I looked at my eyes again. At my newly formed face. The scars on my skin. My chestnut eyes, and long eyelashes, and wild hair.
And I was content. With my history, how I've developed as a person, who I used to be and who I am now and who I'm on the path to being.
My boss asked me about what my thoughts on heaven and hell were today. I told him that frankly, the Universe and I have a personal relationship that I don't feel the need or urge to discuss with him or anyone. When I look at myself, I see my link to God in my eyes as clear as my pupils. I wear my soul on my sleeve.
And I am content.
As the dogs were eating their dinner I stood and stared into my own eyes for the first time in a long while. I looked at the hallway that saw my worst years. The worn bronze doorknob that was gripped in anger and frustration by hands covered in tears. The bathroom I hated my teenaged self in. I looked at my eyes again. At my newly formed face. The scars on my skin. My chestnut eyes, and long eyelashes, and wild hair.
And I was content. With my history, how I've developed as a person, who I used to be and who I am now and who I'm on the path to being.
My boss asked me about what my thoughts on heaven and hell were today. I told him that frankly, the Universe and I have a personal relationship that I don't feel the need or urge to discuss with him or anyone. When I look at myself, I see my link to God in my eyes as clear as my pupils. I wear my soul on my sleeve.
And I am content.
Friday, November 19, 2010
No boundaries.
I didn't realize that my post last night was so positive and optimistic, but it was, which means so much to me; being inadvertently encouraging rather than this deliberate "LIFE IS GREAT!" yadda yadda is freakin' sweet.
I'm having another one of those days where it was kinda ugh and became whoa. My physical therapy this morning was excruciating. I had a new physical therapist and he did these exercises to "loosen" my arm, and accidentally pushed it (and me) beyond my pain limit. Crying ensued, and it takes a lot for me to cry from pain. He is adding his voice to my other physical therapist in my file: they both firmly believe I have a torn rotator cuff and that my ortho needs to order an MRI. That's Tuesday's mission. Consequent of this visit, I was in an extreme amount of pain all day; it was probably worse than when I originally injured it. And so I was frustrated and bitter because I want Tuesday to be here and I want to carve candles and be able to drill a bottlecap if I need to and help my brother sand my Falcon and reupholster my seats and help make my door panels and I can't do ANY OF THAT without my left arm. Grr.
I was texting Cesar, like I do most days when things slow a little at work, and he was saying how I should come hang with him for lunch, but I told him I couldn't drive. It was an "oh, that sucks" response, which peeved me, and then, to my surprise, he showed up. With perfect timing. To hug me and tell me I looked pretty and ask about physical therapy and the doctor and what I'd do. Then he bought me a chai, haha. Win.
After work I headed over and picked up Viktor and we went back to my Italians' house to eat dinner with the fam. My brother is amazing. He's working so hard on my car for no other reason than it's mine, and he loves me, and wants me to have something awesome that we can both have bragging rights over. I just love him so much sometimes it feels like I must glow with it, and I would do absolutely anything for him. We had a random adventure looking for a wire for the carb with Estefan joining us for our non-debaucherous wandering, and we saw my Ecuadorian Joe which always makes me happy, and Vik took care of me like he always does. How can I be so lucky? So blessed?
I'm surrounded by beautiful and amazing and wonderful. You are the company you keep.
When I'm so full of love like this, I feel like there are no boundaries between me and God, no boundaries between me and everything and everyone and I could weep for the joy of it.
Have a great weekend <3
I'm having another one of those days where it was kinda ugh and became whoa. My physical therapy this morning was excruciating. I had a new physical therapist and he did these exercises to "loosen" my arm, and accidentally pushed it (and me) beyond my pain limit. Crying ensued, and it takes a lot for me to cry from pain. He is adding his voice to my other physical therapist in my file: they both firmly believe I have a torn rotator cuff and that my ortho needs to order an MRI. That's Tuesday's mission. Consequent of this visit, I was in an extreme amount of pain all day; it was probably worse than when I originally injured it. And so I was frustrated and bitter because I want Tuesday to be here and I want to carve candles and be able to drill a bottlecap if I need to and help my brother sand my Falcon and reupholster my seats and help make my door panels and I can't do ANY OF THAT without my left arm. Grr.
I was texting Cesar, like I do most days when things slow a little at work, and he was saying how I should come hang with him for lunch, but I told him I couldn't drive. It was an "oh, that sucks" response, which peeved me, and then, to my surprise, he showed up. With perfect timing. To hug me and tell me I looked pretty and ask about physical therapy and the doctor and what I'd do. Then he bought me a chai, haha. Win.
After work I headed over and picked up Viktor and we went back to my Italians' house to eat dinner with the fam. My brother is amazing. He's working so hard on my car for no other reason than it's mine, and he loves me, and wants me to have something awesome that we can both have bragging rights over. I just love him so much sometimes it feels like I must glow with it, and I would do absolutely anything for him. We had a random adventure looking for a wire for the carb with Estefan joining us for our non-debaucherous wandering, and we saw my Ecuadorian Joe which always makes me happy, and Vik took care of me like he always does. How can I be so lucky? So blessed?
I'm surrounded by beautiful and amazing and wonderful. You are the company you keep.
When I'm so full of love like this, I feel like there are no boundaries between me and God, no boundaries between me and everything and everyone and I could weep for the joy of it.
Have a great weekend <3
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Can't get over the good.
So, I've been hesitating on writing because my life has been craptastic. Within a day, life and plan and things in general deteriorated, and of course it just snowballed. Car exploded, missed my friend's going away party, hurt my arm, got rear ended in traffic en route to ER, et cetera et cetera. Things since have, predictably, been stressful, but it hasn't been that bad.
Oh yeah, I'm single again. Josh, good guy that he is, only lasted two weeks. Annnnd another one bites the dust.
So, yeah. Single, facing financial crap shoot, in a butt-ton of pain, and yet, I still don't feel like everything is as bad as it seems. Maybe it's the darvacet. But that's besides the point. While mildly depressed, I was definitely not in a full on bummer. Just a mild case of the fuuuuucks.
Let me tell you what's been making me so happy.
1.) I've had a lot of customers that have been super sweet lately. Always a perk. And them remembering my name and silly facts about me as much as I remember those same silly nothings about them makes me feel like more of a human and less of a droid. Perk.
2.) I have amazing friends. It's hard to be depressed when I know that if I needed anything, I could reach out to them. Granted, I haven't done much of that lately, but it's not because I don't love you. It's because just the thought of you sustains me.
3.) My heart beats faster every day for ever-shifting reasons. I get a special hug, or kiss the soft jaw underside of someone I adore, or remember a nice gesture my brother made, or whatever. Adam will tell me he misses his Erin and where the hell am I? My dad will tell me he loves me four times before I leave the room. My boss will put a blooming gardenia on my desk because he's awesome, or because I love them, or because he knows the story of my parents...it doesn't matter which.
There is so much beauty in this life. The bad, even when it coalesces into one big shit ball that explodes on the windshield of your big life road trip and makes you smell, really doesn't effect anything it all. You just wipe it away and continue the drive.
Love you,
Erin
Oh yeah, I'm single again. Josh, good guy that he is, only lasted two weeks. Annnnd another one bites the dust.
So, yeah. Single, facing financial crap shoot, in a butt-ton of pain, and yet, I still don't feel like everything is as bad as it seems. Maybe it's the darvacet. But that's besides the point. While mildly depressed, I was definitely not in a full on bummer. Just a mild case of the fuuuuucks.
Let me tell you what's been making me so happy.
1.) I've had a lot of customers that have been super sweet lately. Always a perk. And them remembering my name and silly facts about me as much as I remember those same silly nothings about them makes me feel like more of a human and less of a droid. Perk.
2.) I have amazing friends. It's hard to be depressed when I know that if I needed anything, I could reach out to them. Granted, I haven't done much of that lately, but it's not because I don't love you. It's because just the thought of you sustains me.
3.) My heart beats faster every day for ever-shifting reasons. I get a special hug, or kiss the soft jaw underside of someone I adore, or remember a nice gesture my brother made, or whatever. Adam will tell me he misses his Erin and where the hell am I? My dad will tell me he loves me four times before I leave the room. My boss will put a blooming gardenia on my desk because he's awesome, or because I love them, or because he knows the story of my parents...it doesn't matter which.
There is so much beauty in this life. The bad, even when it coalesces into one big shit ball that explodes on the windshield of your big life road trip and makes you smell, really doesn't effect anything it all. You just wipe it away and continue the drive.
Love you,
Erin
Saturday, October 16, 2010
I keep secret in myself an Egypt that doesn't exist.
Is that good or bad? I don't know. -Rumi.
Life shifts in big, whopping waves. I wanted to write last weekend about how wonderful my trip up north was, but I haven't had a chance to, so I'll write about it now.
I left Friday afternoon to head to my people. A few hours after I left, my Melski called me in a panic because someone had hit her in a head-on collision. Cue the worry. She was in shock, didn't want to call her parents, and had no idea what to do, so I walked her through the process step by step and tried to help her as much as I could being so far away from her. Right after she called, I noticed money had been swiped from my wallet at work, and having so many things go wrong so soon into my trip made me seriously consider turning around, cutting my losses and taking care of Melanie. But something inside me told me to continue northward, so I did.
During the drive, I started texting Josh. We talked the entire way up, and already, I could sense something deep moving inside of me. I thought he was cute, of course (we work for the same company and he'd helped out at our office, etc), and I respected how he'd moved up at his job, but I didn't think of us in terms of a couple. He did, and over the weekend set himself on convincing me on the sly.
I got to San Jose and was able to sit and talk to Kassie for hours about life and music and faire and it was wonderful. She always imbues me with this golden warmth, like I'm connected to the homesource. The next morning, I went to faire in Gilroy and was able to see friends I've known since I was 16 and hug them and love them and suck in their wisdom and advice. That night I drove up to Santa Cruz to be with my Milla, another golden woman who reminds me what it's like to be passionate and full and open. She's always been able to GET this part of me that is so hard for others to comprehend or accept. We went to Saturn, the bestest vegetarian diner that we always hit up downtown, and walked around awhile, being girls and gushing over the love she's found with her partner and how confused I was over Frank and Cesar and now Josh.
So many decisions about MY love life had already been made (de facto) by others, and it was frustrating. Cesar is a great guy, but absolutely does not want a relationship with me or anyone else, and I'm not in the mindset for friends with benefits. I want something stable. And then I met Frank, who I've known for awhile as the most amazing guy and kapow, we had fantastic chemistry and all I could think was "this could SO work, and it would be vivid." But for very valid reasons on both ends, we couldn't work now.
Enter Josh. He's been interested in me for awhile and I found out, ironically, the night I had my first date with Cesar. My life was too complicated to try and do anything then, and frankly, I had high hopes for Mr. C. I found out two weeks ago that Josh is taking a position in Mammoth, and I was super jealous because, well, who the hell doesn't love Mammoth?! So I got his number and texted him, partially to get details, partially to see if he actually felt the way my friend mentioned he did, partially to see if we had a spark.
I talked to Milla about it on Saturday night, and she gave me, as always, blissfully well-rounded advice. She wants me to be with someone stable, someone happy, who can reciprocate my natural state... the bright, beautiful, raucous state that I am with her, not my angsty, stressed, face-punching self that I am when I've overworked. And frankly, I had to work so hard with Cesar and Frank. Getting them to be open was like pulling teeth, and each had their own reasons for being that way. But Josh was so open, so immediately honest about he felt and what he wanted, and it was like my hot and frustrated spirit was soothed.
I spent Sunday at Faire with my Milla, and saying it was glorious is a pitiful adjective to describe it. Seeing all of my people up there helped water me, and I drove home feeling refreshed.
On Monday, I hung out with Josh and his friends, and on Wednesday he met my family and asked me to be his girlfriend afterwards. I said yes.
I'm happy. Naturally, I'm nervous that I'll get too happy and too comfortable and that the strain of being lonely and so far apart will take our newness and shred it in the wind. But that's when I'm too much in my head. I'm going to trust that we'll both try to make it work, and that's all we can do.
So that's that. I'll leave you with another Rumi poem.
Dissolver of Sugar
Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me,
if this is the time.
Do it gently with a touch of a hand, or a look.
Every morning I wait at dawn. That's when
it's happened before. Or do it suddenly
like an execution. How else
can I get ready for death?
You breathe without a body like a spark.
You grieve, and I begin to feel lighter.
You keep me away with your arm,
but the keeping away is pulling me in.
<3
Life shifts in big, whopping waves. I wanted to write last weekend about how wonderful my trip up north was, but I haven't had a chance to, so I'll write about it now.
I left Friday afternoon to head to my people. A few hours after I left, my Melski called me in a panic because someone had hit her in a head-on collision. Cue the worry. She was in shock, didn't want to call her parents, and had no idea what to do, so I walked her through the process step by step and tried to help her as much as I could being so far away from her. Right after she called, I noticed money had been swiped from my wallet at work, and having so many things go wrong so soon into my trip made me seriously consider turning around, cutting my losses and taking care of Melanie. But something inside me told me to continue northward, so I did.
During the drive, I started texting Josh. We talked the entire way up, and already, I could sense something deep moving inside of me. I thought he was cute, of course (we work for the same company and he'd helped out at our office, etc), and I respected how he'd moved up at his job, but I didn't think of us in terms of a couple. He did, and over the weekend set himself on convincing me on the sly.
I got to San Jose and was able to sit and talk to Kassie for hours about life and music and faire and it was wonderful. She always imbues me with this golden warmth, like I'm connected to the homesource. The next morning, I went to faire in Gilroy and was able to see friends I've known since I was 16 and hug them and love them and suck in their wisdom and advice. That night I drove up to Santa Cruz to be with my Milla, another golden woman who reminds me what it's like to be passionate and full and open. She's always been able to GET this part of me that is so hard for others to comprehend or accept. We went to Saturn, the bestest vegetarian diner that we always hit up downtown, and walked around awhile, being girls and gushing over the love she's found with her partner and how confused I was over Frank and Cesar and now Josh.
So many decisions about MY love life had already been made (de facto) by others, and it was frustrating. Cesar is a great guy, but absolutely does not want a relationship with me or anyone else, and I'm not in the mindset for friends with benefits. I want something stable. And then I met Frank, who I've known for awhile as the most amazing guy and kapow, we had fantastic chemistry and all I could think was "this could SO work, and it would be vivid." But for very valid reasons on both ends, we couldn't work now.
Enter Josh. He's been interested in me for awhile and I found out, ironically, the night I had my first date with Cesar. My life was too complicated to try and do anything then, and frankly, I had high hopes for Mr. C. I found out two weeks ago that Josh is taking a position in Mammoth, and I was super jealous because, well, who the hell doesn't love Mammoth?! So I got his number and texted him, partially to get details, partially to see if he actually felt the way my friend mentioned he did, partially to see if we had a spark.
I talked to Milla about it on Saturday night, and she gave me, as always, blissfully well-rounded advice. She wants me to be with someone stable, someone happy, who can reciprocate my natural state... the bright, beautiful, raucous state that I am with her, not my angsty, stressed, face-punching self that I am when I've overworked. And frankly, I had to work so hard with Cesar and Frank. Getting them to be open was like pulling teeth, and each had their own reasons for being that way. But Josh was so open, so immediately honest about he felt and what he wanted, and it was like my hot and frustrated spirit was soothed.
I spent Sunday at Faire with my Milla, and saying it was glorious is a pitiful adjective to describe it. Seeing all of my people up there helped water me, and I drove home feeling refreshed.
On Monday, I hung out with Josh and his friends, and on Wednesday he met my family and asked me to be his girlfriend afterwards. I said yes.
I'm happy. Naturally, I'm nervous that I'll get too happy and too comfortable and that the strain of being lonely and so far apart will take our newness and shred it in the wind. But that's when I'm too much in my head. I'm going to trust that we'll both try to make it work, and that's all we can do.
So that's that. I'll leave you with another Rumi poem.
Dissolver of Sugar
Dissolver of sugar, dissolve me,
if this is the time.
Do it gently with a touch of a hand, or a look.
Every morning I wait at dawn. That's when
it's happened before. Or do it suddenly
like an execution. How else
can I get ready for death?
You breathe without a body like a spark.
You grieve, and I begin to feel lighter.
You keep me away with your arm,
but the keeping away is pulling me in.
<3
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