Disappointment: Part II

August 21st

Helser's on Alberta.  Again.

Only this time, breakfast and coffee on a Tuesday afternoon.

How did I get here?

It started this morning.  I was at work when I got the email that we are being forced to vacate our apartment by December 15th.  Well, "no option to renew" is the technical part, but if we find something sooner then that is allowed.

We just moved in on June 15th...

I expected to be here at least a year.  This place is magic.  I fall in love every single day when I walk through the door, when I make coffee in my sunny kitchen, when I sit on my stoop in the crisp mornings reading a book.

I instantly started crying, a little bit uncontrollably.  I had to take a walk.

All of the things happening lately.

All of the "life" I'm struggling to handle.

And now this -- something of a mighty blow.

What a pisser.

Forget trying to work.  Forget these stupid emails and meetings and phonecalls and BS.  I want to be away from here, more than anything.

Only, where can I go?  My distress about this news makes our adorable, wonderful, perfect little house the last place on earth I want to be.  I don't want to be at work because I cannot emotionally handle it.  I don't really want to be walking around in public for fear of nuclear meltdown.

So what does that leave?

I got through the morning best I could, fulfilled some duties that would have reflected badly on me had I not handled them.

Then I bailed for the only place I could call sanctuary: breakfast on Alberta.  And Helser's specifically has a pepper bacon and cheddar hash that is Heaven dipped in sunshine drizzled in chocolate served on a toasted English muffin with a pint on the side, and a cup of coffee, blessed personally by God Almighty, spewing rainbows into the Cosmos.

[...]

And now it's in my belly.

Fuck this day.

More Unsolved Mysteries of the Mind

Dreams
August 20th

I'm standing here talking to her and she's trying to talk me into cutting my hair off, really really short --

I tell her NO, I'm trying to grow it, but as she describes the cut I am more and more lured in to the idea of chopping it all off --

Stop being so impressionable --

I don't know who she is, but I'm supposed to know -- Some blonde lady in a pastel-colored cardigan -- 

I think of the maintenance on a short cut and I shiver, then resist the temptation --


[...]


A food cart, or maybe it's in a building, just very small, a literal hole in the wall on the side of a building -- french fries and fried fish -- They're disorganized and scrambling for tickets -- Did they lose Cale's order? -- The girl with the blue hair looks very stressed out -- This place is dingy -- Are we in New York City?


[...]


We can't find the captain of the ship -- Something is about to happen, something really important, and she is nowhere to be found --

My partner and I leave the ship, run down the ramps and onto the dock scrambling, searching, combing the dewy early morning streets -- She's huddled, crouched, wrapped in a large navy blue coat, or maybe it's a blanket, and her long grey hair that was once regal is now scraggly and unkempt -- Her eyes are wide and anxious, unknowing, unfamiliar and in another place -- sadness and confusion overwhelms me -- How could it have come to this?  How did everything decline so quickly? 

We try to help her back through the streets but she resists, resists, fights -- A chase ensues and my confusion must be set aside for the long pursuit --

While in Great Company

August 18th

[shouldn't the plural of "dominatrix" be "dominatrices?"]

Craving Clouds

White Bean Soup
olive oil
small onion, chopped
garlic cloves
1/2 tsp. dried basil
1/2 tsp. dried rosemary
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
1/4 tsp. salt
pepper
15 ounce can cannellini or great northern beans, drained and rinsed
1 1/2 cups vegetable broth

In a large saucepan, heat oil over medium-high heat.  Add onion, celery, garlic, basil, rosemary, thyme, and salt; reduce to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, 15 minutes, or until vegetables are softened.

Add beans and stir to combine.  Using a large metal spoon, transfer about 3/4 of the bean mixture to a blender.  Add broth and puree until smooth.  Return mixture to the saucepan, stir to combine, and bring to a simmer just to heat through.  Season with additional salt and pepper to taste.  Serve warm.

(I ate two bowls.  Thanks, Sis.)

The Holy Land

August 15th

My coworker called me this afternoon from Butte, Montana.  Apparently there is not much of anything in Butte, Montana.

"Dude, there is nothing in Butte."

"My brother wrecked his car in Butte."

"There is only one reason people go to Butte.  You'll never guess what it is."

"Marijuana?"

"What?  No."

"Okay I give up."

"A giant, festering cesspool."

"Come again?"

"It's called the Berkley Pit.  Google it."

I Googled it.

"It's a huge acidic lake that nothing can survive in.  Everything that falls in dies instantly."

"This is the coolest thing I've ever heard of!"

"Crazy huh!"

I then learned all about the Berkley Pit and started telling everyone about it.  (Apparently I'd made myself the new expert.)  Did you know 342 snow geese landed in it once and all 342 of them died immediately?  The lake custodian said it wasn't the lake that killed them, but I've seen these kinds of killer lakes before.

It's undis-BUTTE-able!

...

I couldn't resist.

Monsters & Bleach

Dreams
August 12th

A four-poster bed on a beach at low tide, fully made, linens and comforters perfectly folded and tucked -- 

A towering, terrifying sunflower monster, reaching forty, fifty stories! -- I've encountered big monsters before, but the sheer height of this giant flower beast makes my stomach leap --

A small lovely girl with large blue eyes and shiny brown hair -- She begs for her bed, cries and pleads -- The waves move slowly, a thin sweeping layer of water reaching seamlessly over the damp sand, like glass -- The massive creature hoists the bed into the air with giant leaf arms and thrusts it to sea, only for some reason it does not reach the orange waves, but remains in low tide, perched perfectly on the sheet of glass water --

The girl cries again, but we are not doomed -- somehow, we will make it through --

[...]

Trying to grow out my hair but I get so fed up with it -- the bangs are all wrong and it's poofing at the bottom -- trying to keep it from getting damaged and I'm excited that refraining from coloring it means it's all natural and healthy and one color --

So I bleach it, all of it, root to tip, white white blonde -- I love it, for a minute, then desperately regret it -- I spent so much time growing out the damaged parts, now I have to do it all over again!  What is wrong with me?!  Why did I do that?!

Dumbfounded, angry, so stupid --

On A Sunday, With the Boys

August 12th

Helser's on Alberta

pepper bacon & cheddar hash

sausage breakfast

smoked salmon hash

coffee

     coffee

          coffee...

. concept of "un-learning"

. "cursive typing"

. I want long hair so I can put it in a bundle atop my head

. maybe I'll feel better once the weather changes...

. ready for Fall, afterall?

The Composition Journey Continues

August 11th

Today's date feels important but I cannot place why.

Eating breakfast at John Street Cafe in St. John's and it reminds me of D.  Makes me miss our adventures in North Portland, St. John's, bumming around, eating lunch at places I'd never see from the street unless they were pointed out to me.

I still wish they were here.

[...]

There is the slightest amount of Autumn in the air today, kind of that smoky wood smell.  Feels a little weird -- Summer hasn't really fully begun.

But I don't mind.  Autumn is more my style.  I can go without summer.

Most Portlanders would murder me for such blasphemy!

I'm not sorry.

A Quiet Panic: More Dreams

Dreams
August 8th

There is an electrical fire -- It started on the desk in the classroom, at the main plug for the computer screen -- My life's drawings are stacked in a large pile leaning against the desk -- Someone calmly says "fire" and I immediately hear the sirens in the distance -- Oh good, I thought, It won't be long -- But it was -- 

The fire grew, enveloping all the cords and swallowing the computer, inching silently towards my drawings -- Is nobody worried? -- It takes several minutes for anyone to catch on, to realize the danger -- Slow panic eats away at the room, from our feet, from the ground -- The sirens go silent and the fire fighters do not show -- How can they not show? -- I go back into the room to save my drawings -- I cannot assume the fire will be put out -- fear and anxiety -- I move most of my drawings in  a few large stacks, but I'm forced to sacrifice others -- Widespread panic has fully set in, the fire spreads -- people running around yelling, screaming -- the fire fighters never show -- How can they not show?

Dealing With Disappointment

Not really what I wanted on a beautiful Tuesday morning.


"
...

I'm unfortunately not going to be able to renew your lease after your six-month term is up.  Right after I leased the condo to you, I lost my job...

...

so I have decided to move back out to Portland where the job market is better and start again...

... 

As it stands now, your lease would expire Dec. 15th, which is a really bad time of year to have to move given the holidays.  I want you to know that I will not hold you to staying that long if you find an alternative living situation prior to Dec. 15th and want to vacate sooner.

...

I know it probably seems as if you've just settled in only to have me throw you this curveball.  I feel really bad about this.  I never would have anticipated this situation, and I apologize for any inconvenience it causes you.

...

"

So, uh, moving again, sometime.

Maybe it's another blessing in disguise?

Meeting Degas

I had a painting lying around forever and ever that I hated intensely.  It had been through so many permutations I couldn't bear to think how to resolve it.  For more than a year it sat.

Then suddenly, today, out of nowhere: sudden inspiration.

I have misplaced the process photos from the original painting, so I must begin where I began today, with the first overlay.

Sometimes, there is nothing you can do to resolve a painting

other than just paint the fuck over it.

It freaks me out a little that I can still see her face in this one.

Channeling Degas and fellow artist S. Bertino...

S. Bertino

Acrylic

August 2012

It feels like the old lady is still in the painting, like her spirit contributes to the entire communicative experience of the painting as a whole.  I love that.

J-Chanandle put it quite nicely:

"That eye line is pure sex."

Thanks, J.  

Feeling really good about this one.

<3

Midnight Parasailing

Dreams

August 5th

Parasailing in the middle of a field at night, a group of us that want to fly, moonlight on the highway --

We reach our destination but it starts raining and there's some lightning too -- We're forced to cancel the excursion even though the director still wants to try it, lightning and all -- I have to talk her out of it, for our safety --

[...]

We're in a field searching for something -- tall grasses, bright moonlight, small ponds reflecting -- the men are throwing frisbees and we're keeping score -- Cale thinks there is something wrong with one of the men, like maybe he's disabled --

A group of shadowy figures begins swarming in the distance, moving systematically towards us, no faces -- dark, with large coats -- Cale asks if I want to see a special place -- "Do we have to hop a fence?" I ask -- "Will that be a problem?" he responds --

We roll ourselves over a fence, my tunic nearly snagging on the rough boards --

Then, running through the woods, dodging mud puddles and swamps -- He is strangely quick on his feet, daggers in cases dangling from his belt -- the world lit by moon, my eyes adjust to the dim glow and things start to look bright -- I can see more now than ever -- 

He leads me into an ancient abandoned building, hexagonal in shape, with small benches around the edges at the bottom of a steep staircase -- I deduce it used to be a church, a refuge -- high ceilings reaching thirty, forty, fifty feet, moss and plants overgrown, but intense magic -- overwhelming magic -- the history of the space, the walls, the memories, is palpable -- a strong surge of warmth and happiness and I can see the thousands of people, walking in and out and in, praying and laughing and finding sanctuary --

Shadowy figures approaching, scouring land, causing pain -- we never see them do it, but we can hear the cries and feel the fear -- but here, we are safe -- in the church, with the plants in the dark, we are safe -- we hide out for many minutes, the glow of his iPhone periodically cutting the darkness with blue light -- a figure appears in the doorway above our heads but we are not visible in the shadowy depths of the recessed room -- he continues on, unaware of our presence --

Things Are Starting to Get Weird, Folks

Dreams
August 4th

It's a cleanup day for our apartment complex, part of the Homeowner's Association stuff, and there are people in and out of all the units, examining and checking and snooping -- Erin is there and looking very pregnant, discussing the cobwebs on our lawn and how they will need to be removed -- 

Our apartment has secret rooms, walls that move up into the ceiling to reveal a den and another bedroom connected to our bathroom -- so much more space!  How did we not know about these rooms before?  Furnished and carpeted with lots of doors and windows and shelving -- It's a miracle! -- Erin leads us around through all the rooms -- Spacey and disconnected, her eyebrows are thick and dark -- her husband cooks something in his kitchen -- Suddenly, all the apartments in the complex are hooked together -- we can walk seamlessly from one to another without going outside -- hallways and windows and people wandering around everywhere -- a big community space that is much bigger than I recognized but it still makes me a little bit mad -- 

I'm standing on the outside of the building and it looks uncannily like the Brightwood House -- No, it is the Brightwood House -- on the corner with the redwood trees and pines in the corner bed, and the porch with white railing that wraps around and around -- I think, Our complex is in Portland, Oregon but it is Brightwood -- I don't think it odd, the resemblance, but it warms me with calm feelings and the slight sense of nostalgia without the sadness -- 

We're back wandering through the rooms, the big secret rooms that I didn't know about, there is one with a bathroom -- all this time when he would leave the bedroom in the middle of the night to go pee, he was using this other toilet, the Secret Toilet, and assumed I knew all about it -- Again, questions -- so many questions! -- How could I not have known about the walls that go up into the ceiling, revealing a den that could easily be utilized for hanging out and TV watching?

All this time we could've been using this as our hanging out room, instead of the living room that becomes so unbearably hot in the evenings -- I'm irritated, left in the dark -- everyone else knows except for me and that makes me so mad -- Struck with angry thoughts laced with small amounts of panic -- 

I now have more rooms to buy furniture for, more rooms to decorate and shui and figure out and organize things for -- this was not in my budget -- resentment, frustration -- 

[...]

The small backyard has railroad tracks running through it, running right through it, mere feet from our back door -- trains run feet, FEET!, from our glass sliding door -- While shocked and amazed and again not understanding how I could not have known about this previously, I think how it makes a lot of sense, because the train sounds are so loud at night --

Not only does the train run right behind our house, but it's the end of the line, the tracks just STOP right here, dead end at a tree with a patch of dirt and a small unpainted fence -- There are small dogs looking far away, below me and the wooden platform I stand on -- a white terrier type and Rottweiler -- William the Rottweiler -- running exuberantly in the yard and then, on the tracks -- tracks that now move further and further below, now a considerable drop going further away -- 

The dogs are specks now and the train is coming full speed but they can't hear me shouting -- Cale runs down to wrangle them -- sounds are muffled and the train's horn blares -- I see the conductor and he looks familiar but I can't place him -- not slowing, signaling them to get off the tracks, Cale chasing the dogs -- the train runs over them but they are not smashed, they are in tact, frozen from fear and shock, waiting for something, a signal or sign -- Tim emerges from the cabin angry and red-faced -- Cale and the dogs move aside and it is only then we realize they have been injured, not fatally, but with wounds that will need swift attention -- I cannot believe he went onto the tracks to get the dogs! -- Oblivious to any real danger -- tracks that still move further away from our glass door -- I don't know how they are so close --

Authentic Happiness: Character Strengths

You should go here and take this test:

http://www.authentichappiness.sas.upenn.edu/default.aspx

The one at the bottom called "VIA Survey of Character Strengths."

There are 24 designated character strengths that are strongly linked to qualities of virtue.  This test ranks them scientifically and your top five are considered highly influential and strongly characteristic of who you truly are and what you value.

I was surprised and delighted to discover my top five.  I feel like they are accurate.  My Top Strength surprised me especially, but when I think about how I function at work and with my money, this is definitely accurate.  

Your Top Strength

Caution, prudence, and discretion You are a careful person, and your choices are consistently prudent ones. You do not say or do things that you might later regret.

Your Second Strength

Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.

Your Third Strength

Modesty and humility You do not seek the spotlight, preferring to let your accomplishments speak for themselves. You do not regard yourself as special, and others recognize and value your modesty.

Your Fourth Strength

Social intelligence You are aware of the motives and feelings of other people. You know what to do to fit in to different social situations, and you know what to do to put others at ease.

Your Fifth Strength

Spirituality, sense of purpose, and faith You have strong and coherent beliefs about the higher purpose and meaning of the universe. You know where you fit in the larger scheme. Your beliefs shape your actions and are a source of comfort to you.

Thoughts on Process

flow

loss of awareness and time
loss of self-consciousness
challenging, requiring concentration
requiring high level of skill
immediate feedback
lack of emotion

I produced a drawing, the final drawing of about 6 of 7, that gave me that fluttery, in love feeling.  The feeling that I used to get pretty frequently in art school, when I was drawing a lot.  The drawings preceding this one were apprehensive, careful, too self-aware.  It took making a number of those kinds of drawings to be able to let go and draw how I know how to draw, be how I know how to be, make something beautiful, effortlessly and gracefully and without regard for my own feelings, like I've done a hundred times before.

It takes making something lackluster, then thinking Well, I'll just try something else... and continuing on.  Ho-hum drawings can feel like wasted time and paper, but if that's what it takes to create a masterpiece, then so be it.

...

It's a process of following a thought rolling around in my head.  I try to express the thought, either successfully or unsuccessfully, then once complete I either try to express the same thought again or it has lead to another thought that requires expressing.  This can go on for hours, attempting to make visual a thought that is both image and deep emotion, intertwined inextricably.

Things That Make Me Feel Wealthy

Listening to a dishwasher whirring

Having a place by the front door where we can leave our shoes

Access to any food I want, at any given moment

Being able to drink coffee every day of my whole life

Being able to save a lot of money, even though I don't make a lot of money

Sufficient Appreciation

"Insufficient appreciation and savoring of the good events in your past and overemphasis of the bad ones are the two culprits that undermine serenity, contentment, and satisfaction.  There are two ways of bringing these feelings about the past well into the region of contentment and satisfaction.  Gratitude amplifies the savoring and appreciation of the good events gone by, and rewriting history by forgiveness loosens the power of the bad events to embitter (and actually can transform bad memories into good ones)."

Martin E. P.  Seligman, Ph.D.

Authentic Happiness

(good book, you should read it.)

As part of the "Composition Book Adventure," I started keeping a gratitude log.  Oprah always endorsed such a log years ago, but I was too young to understand what it meant.  (I have since stopped watching Oprah.)

But writing down things that you are really, truly grateful for is proving very powerful.

Example:

I am grateful for...

a spontaneous evening with friends and food -- two of my favorite things 

that I do not make priorities nearly often enough

working up the strength to go to the gym after having not gone for weeks

my awesome, amazing, wonderful, high-inducing FLOW session - 

*four hours drawing*

the best grilled sandwich I have ever made, by far -- 

turkey, swiss, cheddar on wheat

(the turkey-swiss-cheddar has since been trumped by The Reuben, 

debuting last night at 10:00pm - pastrami, swiss, 'kraut, 

thousand island on Dave's Killer Rye... oh god...)

Anyway, you get the idea.  It makes me feel good about stuff.  Helps me acknowledge what I have, as I have a tendency to pick at the little things that are "wrong" with the day-to-day.  Nothing is ever really wrong, it's just how we arrange it in our minds.

The book referenced above really is a fantastic book.  I haven't finished it yet, as I'm probably the worst reader, ever, in the world, but I find myself wanting to sit quietly and absorb it all.  Very unusual for me and books.

The Art of Dreaming: Part I

I started writing in one of those composition books.  I usually have three or four journals or sketchbooks going all at once, but never a composition book, not since my college Creative Writing class.  This is where all the gritty stuff goes, the stuff that is not for show so it (naturally) must go on crappy lined paper, the stuff that I likely won't talk about with anyone because of its intensely private nature. 

That, and I am an intensely private person.  You may think Nooo but in actuality, I really don't disclose much about my innermost processes.  Not unless I know you well.  I attribute my ability to be warm while at the same time deflecting others' prods for information solely to my small arsenal of Libran qualities.  A useful skill, it's turning out to be.

I guess you could say the composition book is where the "secrets" go, but I wouldn't call them secrets.  I don't know what you'd call them.  

Non-Conversational Items

Private Holy Tidbits

Things You Wouldn't Tell Your Grandma

But one thing that goes in this book is a dream log I've been keeping.  For a psychology class once, the Boy kept a dream journal for an entire quarter, or semester or whatever it was.  He read parts of it to me the other night and oh MAN was it awesome!  So rich and full and beautiful... and inspiring.  

A big part of keeping a dream journal is not the writing part but the remembering part.  Many of my dreams flit away upon waking.  Sometimes they come back to me in short flashes later on in the day, but are then gone as quickly as they arrived.  As I have been learning, remembering dreams is not something you must try hard to do or something you must throw a lot of energy into.  Rather, it is a matter of relaxing the mind, engaging in some mild meditation before bedtime and throughout your day, opening a place in your psyche where you can allow these dream "memories" to exist and manifest, and hopefully float into your full consciousness.  

An excerpt --

August 1st

A red-headed woman, a little bit disheveled like she'd been sweating from a workout, or like she'd just awoken from a fitful sleep -- her cheeks are flushed bright pink -- I thought how she went a little overboard with the blush, then realize maybe that is her natural flushing color -- No, I determined -- definitely too much blush, but I still cannot stop staring at her while she speaks exuberantly about this thing and this other thing --

July 30th

I work more hours than anybody -- tallied on a sheet, written in big loopy numbers, in pencil, hours totaled at the bottom and I have more than anyone -- How can that be?

July 29th

<piece of an exerpt>

...I keep checking the back of my hair with a hand-held mirror and it's ugly and keeps falling out -- the pins won't stay -- the mirror goes back to the spot where it is stored but I keep picking it back up to check my hair, but I am never satisfied --

I read these to Will one night.  We laughed, because many times dreams that feel intensely real later sound silly.  

"I guess this is what I'm about -- grooming myself, working too much overtime, and being mesmerized by red heads," I laughed.

It's not that inaccurate, I'm afraid!

Boudoir Magic

To: Ma

From: Me

Okay, okay, you were right...

...the bed DID need to go on the other wall... It made all the difference!  Gahhh!!

And, I made the giant door a headboard again, for now, until I figure out something else I want to do.  I stuck some black & white photos on the glass and I rightly love it!  Just the right touch.

And, you can't see it in the photos, but above the blue dresser I hung a black-framed mirror that was originally in the bathroom, but wasn't the right height.  Now it's perfect in the bedroom!  It's weird how the things we think we hate we fall in love with all over again after we put them somewhere new...

XOXO

Pea

The bedroom is coming along.  I took my mom's advice and moved the bed from the left wall to the right wall opposite the door.  What I really mean to say is I took my mom's advice and shui-ed the SHIT out of this room.  

It needed it.  Bad.

I got this giant door for free a few summers ago.  It was propped up against a big old tree in someone's front yard, with "free door" scrawled in Sharpie on one side.  A guy living in the house said they're getting a new door installed.  I sweet talked him into helping me haul it up the fat hill to my house on one particularly scorching day.  Nevermind that the door is A THOUSAND POUNDS OF SOLID WOOD.  That was before we got rear-ended a year and a half ago, when I could still lift crazy things and do silly stuff like that.

Anyway, it's been totally worth it, because I effing love this door.  I stuck some photos on it to warm it up a bit, and the Boy has been encouraging me to paint it another color.  I'm taking submissions.  Blue?  Orange? Purple?