pissyrabbits

My jeans smell like the ocean, and my feet are roughed up from walking in sand and snakeskin all day. The shoes I bought my first week or so back in NYC. The ones that could feed three starving children somewhere in the world. The ones that made me realize when I bought them that my life and my decisions were again and unexpectedly my own in some funny shallow way have had sand in them all day. I would have thrown them in the dark water for 10 more minutes of standing there.

Walking through the airport I was nervous in a way I haven’t been since I don’t know… and smiled like I meant it from the top of the escalator. I remembered to breathe.

I haven’t slept in days between the travel, the stress, and now the little and fucking huge distractions of paths both possible and impossible… and I keep taking deep breaths.

Landry, ever my devilangel, sits on my shoulder whispering in my ear.

The wind we’ve had the last couple of days has whistled me to sleep each night. They’ve taken the edge off fitful dreams and drifting in and out. I think I remember storms from when I was younger. The bed in the corner had a window to the side and head of it… they were always open to let the cat in, and I slept in wind all Fall.

It’s giving the pigeons a hard time. Countless have no doubt slammed into buildings given the shaky flight of a few I saw this morning over pizza. The analogy came too quickly and I felt tired of fighting wind myself.

i feel like im getting the ‘gotta go’s” with blogging again.
like im trying to run away from something.
it might just be relief from the exhaustion that i have been feeling for close to a year now.
my brain is allowing itself a vacation.

they say that when you have a near death experience, you see your
‘life flash before your eyes’
and i read somewhere, a theory that says that its your brain trying to solve a problem.
opening up all of what it considers relevant file drawers of similar experiences to find a way out of the predicament that death is proposing.

thats how i have felt this whole year.

racing around the problem trying to find the correct angle from which to look at it.
the angle changed from day to day as new facets were added or removed.
what was a flat plane with no texture suddenly became mountainous. Leaving me sometimes spinning to catch up.

re-look at this.
does it look the same today as it did yesterday?
what, if anything has changed?
where do i stand in this picture?
am i standing in the frame at all?
what makes sense/ what doesnt?
what info do i NOT have?

my head was full at all times.
the train, in bed, walking the dog, out with friends.
it didnt stop processing information for one second
like a super computer

i even had to stop reading the news for awhile.
the days when my head was occupied with finding a way out
there was no room for it.
news and people inspire a great deal of rage in me
i didnt have any vacancy
and no energy for anger
so my news intake was inversely proportionate to the amount of clicking and whirring that was going on upstairs

so now the clicking has stopped for a bit
the whirring?
eh…
maybe not.

it seems to me that Gormley’s been doing a fine fine job of carrying my ass here.

Tonight i am stressing about things before they happen and i can’t figure out why. Landry talked me off my ledge with beer and promises of Tylenol PM. Stress and travel fatigue are wearing me out. Transition and a letter from the court in MA is most certainly contributing. I turn confidence and nerves on and off like a really fucked up toggle switch. I need more roots. A plan.

This post will sound like its about him, but it isn’t. It’s about the pieces left. How they fit. All of this is about what I’m left with now. The pieces… some gorgeous, some painful… all in little tiny stacks I’ve been trying to sort this last year without realizing it.

My carefully built and graceful path all reduced to a bit of rubble a year ago and ignored by me as I spun through selling the condo, moving, job 1, job 2… falling into successes as Fate’s small, last gift to me. A little break.

And now I see these wavering little stacks. ‘Trust’ and ‘loyalty’ stacked near - but not touching - the stack of ‘hurt’ and ‘betrayal’… which stands in the shadow of the stack of puzzle pieces labeled ‘family’, ‘friends’, ’safety’, and ‘home’.

And now I’m left figuring out which pieces to throw out. There is shit I should keep. Puzzle pieces that are worth the scars it took to get them… and there is a small pile starting of shit to let fall off. Pitch down the hill. No space left for it.

And so I’m left piecing the bits left together in my head. Start with the straight edges of the puzzle first. Count on one hand the gifts this last year has given me and figure out the complex middle with colors and shapes that don’t match up.

I see projects, paths, and plans all 3 dimensionally… but I hate puzzles that require math. Piece 1 fits where? how does ‘trust’ fit with ‘unknown’? ‘Spite’ fit with ‘family’? ‘Friends’ with a shaky ’strength’? How many pieces can I keep? I’m less worried about fitting things together than I once was… but I still worry I lost a piece under the fucking couch that I haven’t bought yet.

this is a total cop out for our 101st post.
however
This is my favorite part of Inside the Actors Studio.
the comments section would be a PERFECT place to answer.

1. What is your favorite word?
filthy

2. What is your least favorite word?
moist

3. What turns you on?
a girl with a good swagger

4. What turns you off?
the christian right

5. What is your favorite curse word?
twat

6. What sound or noise do you love?
the rain in the shaftway outside my bedroom

7. What sound or noise do you hate?
banging on walls

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
educator

9. What profession would you not like to attempt?
math teacher

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
“cocktail?”

Breakfast (pictured above) doesn’t realize how large she is. She has however mastered a very clever (seemingly) plan to mask her brilliance (assumed) with the sort of dopey daft charm normally found in awkward-but-pretty teenage girls, or a really really stupid child.

She is breathtaking to watch run. She has as much gray hair as I do and easily a good 30 pounds on me. She does this funny thing where she leans into you… and I mean full-on 140 pounds of muscle and charm. She lets me pet her when shes sleeping (no mean feat), and never barks at the comings and goings of the house. Her bark, when Landry gets her to do it, is the sort of barrel-chested, sternum-shaking bark you would expect from her massive rib cage… and she often follows it up with a gruff ‘harumph’ just to let you know shes not finished being surly.

It made me sad for a long time that she didn’t recognize me the way Moufa did. The way his eyes would light up when he recognized me in a crowd rounding the corner to meet him and Landry on a walk in Bklyn. The absolute glee was written on his face. Tonight? I think she just pretends not to recognize me. Because she ran at me like she meant it on our walk home. Just for a second.

I slept until 11 today… I think the cool air and my tired head combined forces. Had I not heard squealing children and someone’s circular saw… I was good for another hour or two. Fabulously unlike me and my normal 7:30 rising.

When I went to get coffee I passed by the schoolyard with the aforementioned squealing children, and watched with amusement as very tiny boys kicked soccer balls at very tiny shrieking girls who were lined up against the wall like a brothel. I thought… “oh you poor little boys, you have no idea how much they’re going to kick your ass in a year or two once they’re done with pink and glitter…”

…and then for the first time ever I thought it might be fun to have a little girl someday. I’m guessing it will pass since I don’t actually like little girls.

ugh.

I’m really sorry… but even if you get felt up by a priest as a 13 year old? It’s still a little uncool to leer at 14 year old pretend employees.

In unrelated news. Landry and I are enjoying (still, at nearly 24 hours later) one of the most kickyourass hangovers I’ve had the pleasure of in awhile. whew.