Art of Seeking

developments across the board

If my life gets any more interesting, I’ll be a great case study soon. But until then, I’m rather enjoying the oddness.

First, I’ve found out that my intermediate belly dance class will be performing in the first two weeks of March. The choreography is awesome, and the music is everything I’d hoped for. It starts out sounding really tribal, then this heavy bass kicks in… hell yeah. My teacher Natalie is a sweetheart AND a good teacher. Very patient.

Then, there’s the explanation for this picture:

(That’s me in my funny hat on the djembe and Matt on didgeridoo, Angela on violin, Glen on djembe/ banjo, and that one guy I just met on doumbek and effects pedals. No, the drum set wasn’t played and I have no idea what the skillet is for.)  Matt and I were asked if we wanted to perform with our friend’s band, Delphi Quorum, on Feb. 5. Sure, why not, an excuse to play music is an excuse to play music. This is an…. interesting musical experiment- some guy is using effects pedals (including a loop) on some odd sounding vocals and Matt’s didgeridoo. Then there’s a few djembes (including mine) and my Remo klong yaw that Matt is pretty good at using as a “talking drum” because it’s so out of tune.. I guess you have to hear it and know a little about tuning drums to understand why. But anyway, there’s a banjo and a violin as well. Yeah. Experimental. It’s fun, but I’m sure plenty of folks might see it is strange or just plain creepy.

So, I was at my acupuncture appointment getting jabbed when for some reason, in a conversation between me and Brent and Allie, it was mentioned that Brent knows an Incan Shaman. I’m about to start writing a research paper on medicines and hallucinogens in the ancient Andes, so it seemed quite serendipitous. He hasn’t seen her for a bit but says he’ll look her up for me. Meanwhile, I’m also doing a research paper on NAGPRA, and Ana just revealed to me that her best friend’s father is a Lakota Shaman. Perfect. And weird. But cool… I’ll be attempting to set up some interviews soon.

Meanwhile…

I’ll be doing a photo shoot this Sunday with a few models. It will hopefully involve a collection of antique tools, really colorful clothing, railroad tracks, possibly a raccoon skin coat, and a crumbling silo. Sounds like fun to me.

If you’re not calling your favorite legal drug dealer (i.e. psychiatrist) for some Prozac on my behalf yet, it’s only because you know me well enough. I guess. Thanks.

I’m making some Pozole and hoping the damn hominy is done before the cornbread is. I need to get to sleep soon… long day tomorrow…

Oh, yeah. The top picture is my friend and tattoo artist Randal, playing a variation of chess invented by our friend Kurray and some other guys. Possibly including Randal. Matt helped make the board a couple years ago. The board they’re playing on has elevated squares in a roughly pyramid shape, and the corners are decorated each with tropical island, Antarctic, desert, and jungle scenes. No idea how it’s played. I always lose chess. And Hearts. And Gin. And… well, everything but scrabble and connect four.

Back to the “grind…”

From Hell to Breakfast

I could swear this song was a message from Mark on the radio this morning… maybe I’m nuts but oh well whatever.

Guns n Roses- Don’t Cry

I’m coping. With the help of some friends, including a call from Karin, I’m doing a bit better. Now I just need to somehow get down to visit her and Martha and hopefully Mark’s grave. I’d love to meet his wife and daughter, but I’m not sure if that can happen, at least at this point in time.

Arielle is graduating from high school tomorrow. There will be pictures. I am very proud. We stopped by the coffee shop on the way home from the rehersal, and as we were walking back to the car, Arielle said something to me and referred to me as “mom.”
“Oh my GOD!” someone yelled from one of the tables. “She’s your daughter?! I thought you guys were sisters! I hope I’m that hot when I’m o- I mean, not old but…” By this time, Arielle and I and everyone sitting outside were laughing hysterically.
I got called “hot and almost old in one breath. It’s just too funny.

I love what the clouds have been doing lately:

Some friends have been doing their best to hang out with me and be there for me so I don’t go nuts:

I love Renee’s kitchen:

Another one from Diamond Fork:

Back in the Day- Mark, et al

Steve Vai- For the Love of God

First and foremost, here is Mark as I like to remember him:

7- 28- 1990
This was a polaroid he’d captioned “first concert.”

Here he is at some kid’s birthday party at age 16 or so.

It was not fun digging for these pictures, but the hell if I was going to leave without them. Guess where, in this mess, I found them. I’ll bet you CAN guess:

That’s right- in the very back, on the very bottom, in the bottom of a box. I had thought when we moved that I had the box with them inside safely in my room- but somehow it was transported here instead. But no longer.

Guess what else I found (and please guys- especially Martha- don’t kill me):

Karin’s famous sarcastic smile

Karin, age 15

Karin stealing the station wagon

The only picture I have of Martha, who is probably planning my death

Thelma, in Karin’s room

Thelma and Dan, who she broke up with, then I dated him, then we broke up…

Joyce and her feelings on pictures and the world in general- taken at the Palm Springs mall in 1989 or 1990

Karin’s grandmother, a.k.a. “Granny,” Femme Fatale.

Were there pictures of ME as a fourteen year old dork? Indeed there were, but I could only find one:

See?? Dorkus extremus, in its natural habitat.

That’s all for now. I’m going to find a picture frame for that polaroid of Mark, that he gave me when we were dating, all those years ago.

Memories of a first love departed

Jimi Hendrix- Voodoo Chile

I remember the day I met Mark. He was a year older than me; popular, good looking, interesting, and funny. I was none of those things. I figured he was way out of my league. That was when I was fourteen.

I went to school with and was sometime partners- in- crime with his sister, Martha. We didn’t always get along, but we had a mutual best friend in Karin, who always had more sense than her years let on.  Joyce, Thelma, and a lot of cameo appearance folks would hang out with us and smoke cigarettes, and we’d pretend to be a lot more badass than we really were. No one bought it. Especially in the case of me. I was a serious dork.

Mark and Martha’s place, where they lived with their dad, became my favorite hangout. We could smoke inside, there was good music, and if Mark was sleeping and Martha was out, Mel (that would be dad) would let me sit there with him and watch westerns. My first boyfriend was their brother, James. It lasted about a week, I broke up with him, and he moved away a few months later.

Mark played guitar with slightly more expertise than I had in writing my own name. I’d listen to him and a revolving door of stoner musicians play, and wish I was half as cool as they were while I attempted to play my own guitar in a locked room at home. Jimi Hendrix was idolized along with a slew of other guitarists whose posters were pasted all over Mark’s bedroom walls. Randy Rhoads, George Lynch, Jake E. Lee- many, many others. He’d try to play like them, practicing for hours every day. He ate sugary cereal with sugar dumped on it, smoked, slept, and played guitar. Sometimes his guitars and equipment would be stolen- it wasn’t a great neighborhood- but he’d always manage to have a guitar or ten somehow.

He was great at developing catch phrases. Even now, I’ll still catch myself saying, “Easy, Gunther…”

Yngwie Malmsteen- I am a Viking

I was shocked and very happy when Mark asked me out. Well, sort of. He started holding my hand one day as we walked around town together. A girl asked, “Hey, are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” He looked at my naive, hopeful face and back at her, and said, “Yeah! We are!” And I agreed.

I was 15, he was 16. It lasted about two weeks, officially, and it broke my heart when he broke up with me. It took extreme measures to get over him- particularly as I don’t necessarily deal with things the same way normal people with normal brains do.

I ran away with nothing but the clothes on my back and lived on the streets for a bit. Focusing on surviving kept me from thinking about him. I only saw him once during that time, and we didn’t say much. I didn’t tell him how I’d felt, what was going on or what I’d been up to- we simply said our “hi’s” and “how are you’s.” I wasn’t the same as I had been a few weeks before- I think I understood more about life and was okay with it.

Still, I’ll never forget how blue his eyes were and the way he smiled at me that day.

For the next two or three years, we didn’t date officially but saw each other between steady relationships. Some folks would swear we were lovers, but we actually never had sex. We did make out, a lot. For hours at a time. (He was a great kisser.) We shared a lot of things in confidence. His moodiness didn’t bother me- all I had to do was scratch his back and he’d melt into my arms like a tired kitten.

Randy Rhoads- Dee

The affairs continued right up until he started dating one of my best friends ever, Karin.

We never really discussed our relationship. Mark and I were there for each other, and that’s all we ever needed to be. When one of us started dating someone else, we’d automatically fall back into being platonic friends- no expectations, no disappointment, no hard feelings. Ever.

We all moved to different states and lost contact with each other. Then Karin and I found each other with the help of my brother a few years ago. Mark and Martha lived a few hours away from her. I was sure we’d all be hanging out again soon.

I didn’t want to believe the news I got a couple of weeks ago, when Martha sent me a message.

Mark Holland, Dead at 35.

The family is devastated, of course. I can’t imagine what his daughter is going through. Martha could barely get a sentence a week out in her sparsely dispersed emails. Finally, I texted Karin, who told my whiny, hysterical ass what had happened.

Apparently, he’d had cancer that had gone unsuspected and undiagnosed up until days before his death.

Today, a thunderstorm raged outside while I dug through my diary from about twenty years ago. I had written some of the passages while sitting in Mark’s room, listening to him play guitar. I hadn’t written anything of earth- shattering importance or interest or even intelligence.

I dug through that idiotically written, cheesy diary for about an hour, scouring every mention of Mark. It never got more detailed than “I went to Mark and Martha’s today,” “Mark and Karin have been together for about two weeks, “Mark wants me to play bass for him.” Until some drama went on, and I recorded some of it, but I refused to get involved or take sides on anything. None of my business.

We were neighbors for a while, as Mark introduced me to the guy who would become my first husband, who lived a few doors over. On my way home one night, Mark attempted to quote Shakespeare to me and failed it completely. “Hey, Loraine! What light through yonder… something about breaking windows… never mind.” “But soft!” I responded. “What light through yonder window breaks!” I finished the whole Romeo and Juliet balcony dialogue, and he and his friend just about fell over laughing.

A lot of crazy things went on in that neighborhood. There were a lot of drugs and psychotic people around. A lot of drama happened. Mark and I drifted apart.

I remember the last day I saw him. He was moving away to Oklahoma soon. We didn’t talk much, but he picked up my hand and brushed a tear from his eye with it.

We never really did need words.

(more pictures will be added to this post once I dig my old photo albums out of storage- including the Polaroid of Mark with his first flying V that I used to stare at for hours some decades ago.)

Back for now

My favorite Bob Marley song:

Bob Marley- Three Little Birds

It’s been in my head for the last day or so.

We went camping- as I posted last time- and got POURED on. The girl’s tent sprung a leak and one of the sleeping bags was soaked. Matt’s hammock also got wet, in spite of the tarp above it, so I let him use my cot and I slept in the car. It wasn’t the greatest time we ever had camping, but I did get a lot of very cool pictures:

We may and may not go camping tonight. We might go to a party. We might fall asleep. Ana, who went camping with friends in a place that is reportedly covered with inchworms, stopped in for a moment to get dressed (she was soaked), yak my ear off about the dog and the worms and stuff, borrow the other camera (which shall be returned unharmed and in perfect working condition, so it shall be done- on pain of death, or at least severe grounding), and off she went again to Inchworm Mountain.

I need a nap and some non- camp food. And a shower. Definitely a shower…

insert clever title (updated)

…because I don’t feel like it.
This song pretty much describes the kind of day I’ve been having:

Flogging Molly- The Worst Day Since Yesterday

There have been a couple of decent moments. I signed Mekare up for cheer leading and she is all excited. I’ve never been a big fan of cheer leading, but I’ve always been a big fan of Mekare. She’s going to have a busy summer, since my friend Angela (violin player for the band Devil’s Cuntry) has offered to tutor her for free.

I finally got my bathroom clean. Ish. I’m ready to pay someone to scrub that damn bathtub for me.

I got my final grades back for the term: ANTH 3150: B-. ANTH 3200, B+. ARCH 1100, A- (yay!) HIST 3160, D+ (boo). I really struggled to keep up with everything this term, and my history class obviously suffered the most for it. There was a TON of reading for that class- a bit more than for any of my other classes and the reading for those was nothing to sneeze at. There is one other reason I sucked at that particular class so much, I think- it was History of Utah. I didn’t mind the geological or Native American history, but the history of the LDS church- I’m sorry, folks who are Mormon- disgusted me. The more I read about the early Church, the more I hated reading it because it was just one sick thing after another- from the Church leaders gallivanting around Britain picking up new teenage wives while their older wives died in Winter Quarters, to the “blood atonement” rituals and killings (not just the Mountain Meadows Massacre, either), to the treatment of people who left the church, to the so- called “Mormon code” (i.e. manipulative ways to lie about church practices without wholly “lying” if you look at it a certain way) and the seething hatred for all things “gentile.” I just couldn’t stomach it. If you want to yell at me, go ahead, but I found a lot more horrifying than redeemable qualities in the early Mormon church from what I read in books By Mormons, about Mormons- many of them related to whom they were writing about: Notably “The Last Pioneer,“ the story of John Taylor written by his grandson, and “The Forgotten Kingdom,” also written by a grandson of a Mormon pioneer. At least read them before you jump in my face, so you’ll have an inkling why I got so irritated. Even some of the Mormons I took the class with were more than a little shocked, but somehow found ways to make themselves feel all better about it. I don’t get it. And I don’t think I want to.

Matt’s been doing landscaping for a good chunk of the day as his friend and former boss is having a wedding in his backyard in a couple of days and the landscaper copped out on him. Apparently he did an amazing job, and a landscaper who finally DID show up told him that if the screen printing doesn’t work out, he’ll be hired on as a landscaper. He was very impressed, and asked Matt how much landscaping experience he’d had. Matt told him that he did some landscaping a few years back for a little while, and before that did his parent’s yard, and that’s pretty much it. So far the screen printing looks pretty good, though- and Matt working in the sun is not fun to deal with. He HATES the heat. Today he was hot, his back hurt, and he was grouchy and argumentative and drove me nuts until I dropped him off at his friends house, where he’d promised to help them with their garden. We’re planting quite a few of our seedlings there, and my raspberry bush, and maybe my blueberry.

And I took a few pictures today. It was really nice out, but I spent half the day inside waiting for people to pick up stuff from Freecycle, and I was at Matt’s beck and call as he was having a flu relapse until we got some Mucinex in him and he rebounded quite nicely.

Today’s pictures, mostly at the house where Matt was landscaping:

Here are some Mexican masks I picked up at the thrift store for a grand total of $20- much more than I normally spend, but then, these are so nice:

They will soon be on my wall.

But before I hang them, I have to tune Ana’s guitar and help Mekare clean and organize the pantry. yay.

New Year’s revelry

I’ve been doing my best to relax after last night’s revelry and this morning’s hangover. Me and the girls were making lunch when I couldn’t help but notice a rather large spider hanging from its invisible web, inches from Mekare’s head. I grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back. She thought I was mad at her or she had done something wrong- until I pointed at the spider.
I’m sure her blood- curdling scream was heard as far as two blocks away.

I heard some of the most ridiculous things all year (har har) at the party last night. There is one particular moron whom I personally can’t stand who spent the evening making scenes and irritating the hell out of everyone. One guy, who had been on the verge of kicking his ass, finally told him, “Okay, I’m just going to enjoy watching idiots like you do idiotic things.” “Yeah!” said the moron, and high- fived him. Then as he began to walk away, he stopped. “Wait a minute… I’m not an idiot! I’m NOT an idiot!!”

He wasn’t done yet. My friend Glenn, in an effort to keep him from bugging anyone else, challenged him to punch him in the gut. Moron gave him a couple of good swings, but neither was effective on Glen’s solid stomach. “Yeah, that was a good try,” said Glen, and kicked him in the shin. It dropped moron like a rock, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

It was getting late. Matt was asleep in my lap, and I was starting to doze. Then I overheard a drunken conversation between moron and a friend of mine. It went something like this:

Moron: “Yeah, I don’t talk to you much because I kind of hate you ’cause you’re kind of a bitch.”

My friend: “Why are you being so damn rude? You’re a douche.”

Moron: “Why do you think I’m a douche?”

my friend: “Because you just called me a bitch and told me you hate me!”

Moron, “I just said that ’cause I like how you look when you’re mad. I’d really like to take you out to dinner…”

At this point, I expected someone to slap the shit out of him, but everyone just fell over laughing.

Thankfully said moron doesn’t hang around with my friends very often, but whenever I see him, I cringe.
There were a few people there I didn’t expect to see at all- my ex boyfriend, Daniel, whose current hair makes him look a bit like Vladamir Putin:

…and my friends Ric, Adra, and Karen whose pictures I also took but my internet connection had issues uploading. Thankfully, I got some great pictures of the band, Napoq, and Glen, who opened for them with a solo bass show:

And here are some random pics of good times last night. Happy 2009, everyone.

psychosis undaunted

Quotes of the Day:

Matt: “I brought home a stray.”

Me and Ana in unison: “AGAIN?!”

(Matt was referring to one of our friends, but it applies in several areas.)

Steve Colbert on The Colbert Report: “If there are any children or pregnant women in the room, I would advise you to have them leave the room, or render them unconscious.”

The News: “Senator Craig lost his appeal in the men’s room sex sting case…”

Me: “That guy lost any kind of appeal a long time ago.”

Something wonderful finally happened today. I FOUND MY OTHER GLOVE!! Now my hands won’t freeze in the morning anymore! Woohoo!!

It’s the little things that make all the difference. Like not having to use a chisel and hammer to get your hands off the steering wheel once you’ve arrived at your destination. My car heater works okay, but not great like my old Chevy Lumina’s. Damn, I miss that old car. Old Reliable, we called it. Two freaking degrees outside, and it still started up. Got totaled (thanks to some lady who now knows what a “failure to yield” is), and it still got me around for a year. The air conditioner was icy, the heater could melt the ice off my face in seconds. Best of all, it had a CD player! I could listen to my OWN MUSIC! As much as this Merc has been a lifesaver, that’s the one thing I really miss. I get tired of the radio. DJ’s are so damn annoying. Morning shows drive me nuts. I love metal, and it’s being replaced by this new “pop metal” crap. And now, my used- to- be favorite classic rock station plays a lot more Elton John and Billy Squire BS than Creedence. It’s turning into crappy 80’s pop! I want my Skynard and Heart and Bad Company!! WTF!!

Obviously I’m in a better mood today. I think it’s because I’m making some headway on my schoolwork and Matt is being really sweet.

I was driving home from the one class I made it to before I spent the rest of the day typing madly, and I spotted a little cloud sitting on the mountain.

I took a couple more pictures before I got home.

We’re always trying new foods, especially if they’re on sale. When Matt and I were still “just friends,” we sometimes went to the Red Lantern Chinese Buffet- one of our favorite dishes was the teriyaki octopi. I found just that kind of octopus at the store for only a couple of bucks, so we had some teriyaki calamari for dinner. Ana thought it was sad. Mekare thought it was weird, but oddly tasty. Arielle loved it, of course. I thought it was okay, but the restaurant did better (unfortunately, they’ve since closed).

I heard a movie is coming out with Beyonce as Etta James?! I don’t know much about Beyonce, but those are some big shoes to fill. I don’t think she’ll measure up, personally-do you think anyone as supermodelish as Beyonce will be able to accurately portray a woman who struggled with obesity, didn’t look like a supermodel, and sounded 5,000 times better than 97% of today’s vocalists? I don’t… just MHO…

Arielle is now a singer for a punk rock band, which is odd because she’s never really listened to punk. She likes country, some metal, and anything Japanese. They needed a singer, though, and she jumped at the chance. I told her she was going to need to re- vamp her wardrobe. I can’t afford much- but I CAN get her a ton of safety pins…

Matt’s PS3 has suddenly stopped reading disks. He tried the canned air, he tried the update- nothing. Looks like we might have to send it in for repairs… unless anyone has some suggestions?

More on The Devil’s Cuntry

Here’s Track 5 from the brand new self- titled Devil’s Cuntry CD:

The Devil\’s Cuntry- Hittin\’ That Bottle Again

I’ve known certain members of The Devil’s Cuntry for years, dating back, in Utah Valley time, to the “First Steamer’s.” That is, the controversial and legendary first Steamer’s coffee shop and venue on Center Street in Provo- which closed down in 2002 to re- open two years later, two blocks south. Glen Goss (bass) became the general manager. Steamer’s was re- named “Ironic Ashes” for the adjacent smoke shop. Unfortunately there were bad management issues, landlord issues, city issues, and internal issues- and Ironic Ashes/ Steamer’s closed down again with a party on its last day that drew a huge crowd, a destructive party, and about a dozen or so cops. Matt and I missed it when he got an opportunity to help set up and shoot off fireworks for the Provo New Year’s celebration from atop a parking garage.

Forming from broken- up bands from around the valley, Devil’s Cuntry formed last year. So far, they have quite a following, for a Satanic* country band.

From the sound of their CD, you probably wouldn’t expect this kind of reaction:

Yessir, this here’s a country mosh pit.

They don’t look like they’d inspire an enthusiastic moshing:

The Devil’s Cuntry has worked long and hard to get to all their gigs, in Tanner’s (lead vocals/ guitar) old van which gets eight miles to the gallon. At one point, it broke down, and Matt and I drove half their equipment to their gig in downtown Salt Lake City. The van is back in one piece, and they’re all over the place, gigging their precious little hearts out.

The fans love the attire, and were more than willing to model for my camera.

Legend has it, they’re a cursed country band. A week after their second show- their first show in an actual venue (City Limits in Provo)- their drummer, known as “Chuglet,” our beloved friend and official pain in the ass (in a friendlyish way), hung himself from a tree. Later we found out he’d been suffering from a mental illness.

R.I.P. Scott Hughes

He was replaced by this guy:

Brandon isn’t really a drummer, as far as he’s concerned. He’s played bass and guitar for other bands, has a background in classical guitar, and at his old age of 19 or 20 is probably one of the best guitarists in the valley.

They had, for a bit, a guy on the jaw harp. I haven’t seen him play with them for a while. I believe there was some sort of scandal, but I’m not sure what (or perhaps I have an inkling but don’t feel at liberty to discuss it). And he’d finally learned how to play the damn thing without slicing his face up.

Oh well. Not a huge loss.

Angela is their violin player, and she’s probably the least cursed band member- and definitely the most photogenic (sorry, Glen).

She first jammed with Tanner in the band Hellbound Saints, in the Second Steamer’s era.

If you would like any more info on The Devil’s Cuntry, here is their MySpace page:

http://www.myspace.com/thedevilscuntry

Lots more music and pictures there.

*They call themselves a “Satanic” country band, and there is one song that sounds a bit satanic, but I’m pretty damn sure none of them actually practice Satanism as a religion.

It’s ALIIIIVE!!

For your viewing pleasure, here’s a butterfly I met this morning.

The internet is finally back! WOOHOO!! Just in time- I start school tomorrow, and I’ve got three articles for the paper in mind that just can’t wait to spew forth from my fingertips. And I know at least one of my teachers has assignments every session- lots of writing.

I can’t post ALL of what I’ve been writing while attempting to keep my sanity, but here are some snippets:

August 25.

4:15 am. The T- Mobile jingle wakes me up.
Snooze.

4:29. Why hasn’t that stupid thing gone off yet?
4:35. There it is.
Matt turns his lamp on and beats me to the bathroom.

I get his lunch ready- two bottles of Ensure and a yogurt. He won’t be able to chew for another week still. His 100 oz refill mug is all ready to go with grape punch.

4:50. Matt is showing remarkable fortitude and self- discipline. He’s in pain, he’s always beyond grumpy in the morning, and once again I’ve made a ridiculous mathematical error in our finances. Yet he wasn’t squawked at me. Is it because of all my apologizing, or is it just too painful for him to talk?
When I thank him for not killing me, he says he loves me and holds my hand.

5:00 am. Matt saunters into the office, and I saunter off toward home. I turn the radio on.

“Young and dumb and full of “oh!” with a sugar coated candy cane…” Yeeauchh. -click-

“She’s sixteen and sexy…” -click. Why are all the pedophiles recording music and not in jail?

White Zombie’s “Thunder Kiss 65″ tails off and is followed by ads. -click-

NPR. Plane crashes in Guatemala and Kyrzykstan. Russia vs Gorgia. Russia vs Russia. Kashmir vs. India. Palestine rejoices as Israel releases prisoners. Closing ceremonies at the Bird’s Nest in Bejing. Women’s tennis.

Knowing my uncle is way into women’s tennis, I try to pay attention, and space out. Uncle Frank makes it sound much more interesting than the radio does. “At the end of the day, it’s not about a banana,” indeed.

-click-
Just in time to hear the end of Ozzy’s “Flying High again.” Oh well, I have three copies of it at home in various states of media.

I pull into my parking space and saunter back toward the bedroom, hunt for the remote, turn on BBC news.
Bejing, Bejing, Bejing. Lamenting women at the Kyrgyzstan airport.

Matt’s ring floats from my phone. He’s forgotten his ibuprofen.
Back in the car. 50 mph down the highway and something that looks and runs kind of like a badger but is the size of a german shepherd and covered in shaggy brown hair darts in front of the car. I manage to miss it without losing control.

Matt is cleaning the blue screens. I hand him the bottle. He thanks me and shows me the swelling in his face. I hope he’ll be okay.

Back in the car.
Black Sabbath’s Iron Man… classic but overplayed. -click-
Crap. The talk shows have started. -click-
Niel Young’s “Heart of Gold.” Another overplayed classic. -click-
Ads. -click-
That song with that guy who wants to put his dick in a blender or something while tied to a bedpost. Well, at least he’s not drooling over jailbait.

August 26.

4:42 am. I order myself to stop hitting snooze and get the hell out of bed.
Matt gets up and beats me to the bathroom again.
He informs me sourly that I left my floss in his hairbrush, and I apologize. I’ve actually never been tired enough to do that before.
Apparently there really is a first time for everything.

4:47 am. Dump ice and gatorade in Matt’s 100 oz refill mug. Grab him some yogurt and Ensure. Chewing is still not recommended.

4:57 am. Matt wants more kisses than usual before going in to work.

4:58. Nirvana’s “About a Girl.” “Long Road to Ruin.” G nR’s cover of “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” takes prescedent above Aerosmith’s “Dude looks like a Lady,” one of my least favorite Aerosmith songs.

I reflect on how I miss having a CD player in my car- I could choose my own mood soundtrack in the morning rather than having it chosen for me considering the impact music has on my moods…

Aha. So that’s what “highway hypnosis” is.

I reflect on the myriad aspects of what the hell might be wrong with me today.

5:09. Home again home again jiggity jig. Wow, I really am on an odd one today. I think I’ll go back to bed.

Why, what a spendid idea if I do think so myself….

8:32 am. I’m startled awake by Matt’s text. “Can you come get me?”

I can. Though I’m so damn tired I probably shouldn’t.

He’s been so like a zombie at work for lack of sleep and solid food that he’s been sent hope to re- coup.

8:40. We’re driving over the bridge when I see a bill float over the car at a high rate of speed. “Holy shit, that was money!” I said. But Matt’s on the phone with Jeff and can’t hear me. I take the roundabout way and we end up walking up and down that street.

We never found it. Sigh. It looked like a fifty.

I lament the seven bucks in my checking account, but at the same time I’m glad it’s there.

9:ish. Matt’s in bed. I’m installing updates. I should probably be sleeping, too, but I’m not.

The scale reads 127.4. That’s the lowest I’ve seen it in almost two years- I’m very close to my first goal of 125. Then, I’ll try for 115. Hooray.

Food food food! I’m starving! Matt has brought home a package of smoked sausages he’d had at work but can’t eat them anymore. For a while at least. Since he’s turned in for the day, I won’t feel guilty for eating one! I hate eating in front of him these days.

I call Brent at work and leave a message, hoping he wan’t expecting me to come in today.

Interesting. An article about a near plane crash above France when an unexpected depressurization occurs in mid flight. But what I think is funny are the ads surrounding the article, subtitled “Passengers expected to “meet their maker” as plane plummets 26,000 feet.” Directly beliw the picture, an ad for flight searches- next to that, “Save up to 50% on travel! Airfare included!” Below that ad, the story continues with passengers “properly terrified.”

I hadn’t known there was a proper way to be terrified, or that it was proper to be terrified. Appropriate, maybe- unavoidable without being under the influence, definitely-  but now I know that if I’m ever almost in a plane crash in Euorope, being terrified is good etiquette as well.

10:43. The internet is working on the laptop, but it’s not nearly as maneuverable as the desktop. So I’m signing off for a snack and a nap and maybe a nice shower.

August 27.

4:15 am. Snooze.
4:something. Snooze.
4:40. Shit.

I force myself awake. “Last night was hell,” Matt tells me.
We get all his stuff together and take off, but he forgets his mug. I have to go back for it.

5:01 am. Heading back. Def Leppard’s “Armageddon It” is playing. It was one of my favorite songs when I was in middle school, and probably the most light- hearted of the songs I listened to then. When it’s over, I hope they play something else not depressing.
Aerosmith’s “Cryin.’” Go figure.
-click- (just to see what else is on) Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name.” An old guilty pleasure.
I haven’t heard these songs in years but I still have all the lyrics memorized.

5:10. I throw ice in Matt’s drink, grab a sweater and run back to the car.
Ads. -click-
More ads. -click-
Even more goddamn ads. -click-
Eddie Money’s “Take Me Home Tonight.” Ahhh. Talk about your guilty pleasures. Of course, I’m starved for good vocals, and Ronnie Spector is a nice break from the one- type- fits- all approach to female vocals these days.

I run in to Matt’s work where he’s cleaning screens like every morning, give him his drink and a kiss, and I’m off again.

Stone Temple Pilots, “Plush.”
Some happy song about the good ol’ days and a girl he used to know. I reflect on how I always wanted to be that girl they sang about- the one they fell in love with and how they remember her smile and her hair and wish they could see her again…
All the guys I dated in middle and high school were 5- 10 years older than me and just wanted to fuck. There were a couple of guys who I dated for a couple of weeks at a time who were my age and nicer, but easily drifted away when they saw something better, which wasn’t uncommon. Seemed like the only guys interested in me were in their twenties and not wanting anything long- term. As much as I tried to get someone to love me… there just isn’t anything romantic about pedophilia. Especially being on the receiving end of it.

The Good ol’ days for us weren’t anything to sing about, either. I was always surrounded either by tweekers or bible thumpers (we even had a few tweeking bible thumpers). I had the most fun when me and Karin would take off by ourselves. Whenever we were around other people, everyone just wanted to be bitches and get drunk or high or try to get in someone’s pants or climb out a car window at 60 miles per hour on the highway or, worst of all, try to take our music away and tell us we’re going to hell for listening to it. I remember those videos they showed us about how all heavy metal artists were Satanists and they’d backmask everything from Motley Crue to the Bee Gees. Yep, ALL secular music is evil, evil, evil.

It was great when we could get away from it all and laugh our asses off at them. When it was just us hanging out, I wasn’t on edge. I could actually fucking relax and be myself.
It is suddenly no big mystery why listening to Slayer and Pantera helps me out of my bad moods.

::end snippets::

Don’t worry, I’m not so depressed at the moment. I’ve learned how to reflect on things from an objective point of view so I don’t walk around feeling like shit all day.

Since Matt’s had those teeth pulled, it’s not as easy to to keep his energy up. In a couple of days, he’ll be able to eat more solid food. Neither of us can wait. Hopefully he’ll have his dentures in a few months, and that will be one less huge worry on our minds.

And now, I’m starving and I must find some lunch.

It’s good to be back!!