No more Home Depot--fair trade store in good old slowly-turning-soulless Healdsburg.
and a tattoo. am now permanently altered.
things seem to be moving along, new job, a routine to establish. time to start working on those headstands and cartwheels. I must learn to defy gravity before the summer is out.

The Prize Winner of Defiance

why is it I am always more motivated to do things for other people? don't answer it, I don't want to know. sat in aroma's for two hours and finally said what I've been feeling for a while now, with ease actually, possibly with grace--I don't know who I am when I'm alone. That is, when I'm not adapting to other people, not waiting for something great to happen so I can start to live my life. We made a pact, this friend and I, fight the summer depression by taking charge of our own damn lives, making choices for ourselves. I'm failing miserably. brilliant actually, when you consider I'm going to school to learn to make choices. and not even just choices, DYNAMIC choices. I suppose I am just ranting now, doing exactly what I've always done. but perhaps I am allowed? after all, I'm making the choice to rant. I am sitting at the keyboard with the knowledge that tomorrow I will be attending Home Depot Orientation (sports tape intact), and still I am choosing to rant. It seems that I am always wanting to be somewhere other than where I am, hence the desire to play make believe for a living? like Genevieve I am waiting. waiting, waiting, waiting. and she was right when she said it's lonely. the kick is, I do it to myself. and then I think of Richard Curtis--such a wonderful teacher, an exceptional teacher--there is no free will, he said. I've heard it before, I'm sure we all have. but this time he explained it, and I listened. There is no free will because we are all products of our environment and our genetic code, and so we are going to respond to something predictably based on those things. It's not that I'm choosing, it's that I'm "programmed" to choose a certain way. It's not the way I live my life, but it's interesting to think about. this is a full blown rant and there is a full blown scream going on in me. about what, about the absence of things. just the sheer empty absence of things. this doesn't have an end, or middle, and I don't know where it will go, hopefully I'll come out guns blazing and the summer depression will cower at my feet. hopefully I will find more than just a string of sentences. fight on.

in absence of being clever

The Jane Austen Book Club--a movie Hollywood has systematically ruined by tying everything up with a nice happy bow, all the loose ends are cut or tied off--a movie where amy Brenneman is beautiful because her name is Amy, because humanity and vulnerability crack her open like a raw egg, because she created a show in homage to her mother, and willingly showed softness and messiness, anything that could so easily slip through our fingers. So I am sitting here wishing I had the book about the book club in which to refer, wishing there was another ending to add to this beautifully bare portrait of women and life and relationships. I am dreaming about a boy I will never have because he no longer exists, he may never have existed. He's like a stone I rub for good luck, so worn I can no longer tell what drew me to it in the first place, I only know my fingertips miss its touch--like a habit, a figment of my imagination. so perhaps I will meet a girl, perhaps I will find a swedish looking coat-sweater to wrap myself in at night, perhaps I will grow out my hair and trail it down a castle wall like rapunzel. perhaps I will sleep well and dream of new york city in the snow, and a white down comforter to chase away the mean reds like Tiffany's and Audrey on a hot summer day the morning after a gorgeous party. perhpas, perhaps, perhaps.

This is an attempt to figure who I am, who it is that I am becoming. It is an attempt to write more, to think less, and to simply exist and appreciate my life and myself.