What Information, and Where?

this sickness, it persists. i feel yucky. and i threw my back out yesterday as well. so that was a really fun day.

at times, i idly wonder if i'm in the early stages of acute renal failure.

i'm not, but still...

mostly i'm tired, my hips and lower back hurt, my brain is fuzzy, and i don't want to deal with people. which makes my morning spent at the Car Show all the more ironic... E was surprised that i even go to the stupid thing. i am too. mostly, its a family event, and its kinda cool, and for one morning a year, whatever. i can look at a lot of cars. i oggle the scions, we check out the toyotas (big surprise: i don't fit in a yaris), i lust after the short lived volkswagens, and we all make fun of the buicks (sad note, they no longer make the "le sabre". mercury, however, does still make the "monte carlo", and its as ugly as ever.)

sister gravitates towards anything that looks like "high finance soccer-mom", brother goes for anything flashy and fancy. stepmom likes luxe and staid, and dad is pretty much the same, though a tad more daring. my favorite of the show might have been the new vw Rabbit, which yes, shares a name with a vibrator (the ferrari of vibrators, no less), has a little silver rabbit icon rather than its name spelled out, and which comfortably seats four, despite it's small size. i could not stop cackling and grinning wildly while sitting in the driver seat.

which brings me to a revelation: my ideal car was apparently the Gremlin, and the closer a car gets to looking like that Grem-puppy, the happier it makes me. go figure.

post car show, the day was mostly spent sleeping on a heating pad.

i hope to sleep again in the not too distant future.

it's what it is, baby. also, i'm developing a twitch in my right eye. this does not please me. i swear to god, it really feels like i'm falling apart recently.

i did get my shizz together and apply to five starbucks locations within a five mile radius. so if all else fails (which it seems to do on a daily basis) perhaps i'll get to be a barista. it would be a job. i would make some money. and i could try to get my life in order. benefits. therapy. etc.

i was really excited when i started out on my mission to deliver completed starbucks applications. but then, i ended up feeling sort of pathetic. its hard to feel like a superhero when you're hoping you don't get passed over for a job making coffee. and really, let's face it. i'm not going to be satisfied until i'm recognized for the superhero that i am.

which sort of means that i'll probably not be satisfied like, ever.

being human is hard enough. but from myself, i truly do demand super-human everything. i expect the impossible, the larger than life, the grandiose, on a daily basis. and that, is not a healthy way to live.

because i'm really only human.

and can i say how irritating it is to know that i'm writing all this, and it will never get read, because this project isn't getting off the ground until 2008? i mean, i know, things take time, etc., whatever. and granted, in the end, i'm writing this for me. but still... the idea is that someone will read this shit, and they'll understand. and we'll meet, and they'll be attractive and loving, and caring and understanding, and we'll have a protracted and awkward courtship, and exchange gifts and poems, and then one day, a special day, we'll do it in the butt.

its so sad that that is sort of a climax (har har) to any relationship. nudity, genitals, secretions, moaning, and then a shower and a clean set of sheets. the mundane nature of it all is so incredible sometimes... and its not that i don't like sex or anything. and its not that i don't think sex can be amazingly complex and emotional. but any climax is such an anti-climax in the grand scheme of things. we want the love, and the trust, the understanding and the support. we want the intimacy and closeness, and the excitement and frenetic rush of chemicals. we want these incredible, complex, intricate and fully engaging (enthralling) relationships, but somehow, it ends up being a focus on "are we doing it, is it often enough, could we be doing it better, and why do you always do THAT?"

this is why all love stories end with the first free and fulfilling kiss. or the initial night of passion and utter abandon. or with the death of one or both of the protagonists, after one or both of the previous options. because after all that passion and "melding into one" new age blah blah blah, there is the laundry to do, and showers to take. it all boils down to who lets the dog out at one in the morning, or who was supposed to wash which dish.

apparently, i'm feeling a little down on love and sex.

maybe its just my jealousy showing, since its been so long since i've had any of either.

the heart is an amazing, surprising, and stubborn organ. its meant to operate best when broken into shards, and carefully reassembled. the pieces clink together when you walk, and when you twist, they cut you, and bring you to tears. they each mirror a different angle, and a unique facet. the heart is a mosaic of past, present, and future. of fresh love, love that hasn't been born yet, old love like worn t-shirts, washed to lacy thinness; there is love curdled and turned bitter with time and jealousy, dormant love, buried under snow and forgotten, but ready to revive at the first sign of spring. there is love that burns on, like a lamp on low; the object is gone, but the light remains. and all this, as long as you take the hammer firmly in your hand, and bring it down to give your heart that first !*SMASH*!

a good friend of mine used to say that hard times of your life were just when life was wearing you raw. he was, rather is, a stonecutter by trade, and i just know lots of random shit, so it was understood that "wearing you raw" meant cutting channels. it meant opening up parts of you that would later make new things possible. it meant exposing bits and pieces of yourself that will in time, make you and others catch your breath. its being "worn raw" that brings the beauty and depth to things; stone, people, and many other things as well.

le sigh. so i'm being worn raw. and its all just compost. in that its shitty. no, yes, but no. its compost in that the mental and emotional shit that i'm in will fall to ground, and later fertilize periods of lush growth and comparative happiness. every teardrop i can't shed is a diamond waiting to be mined and fashioned into a story. i'm creating the soil from which new growth and beauty can spring. because that's just the way life works.

i found a map in the house today. its not even a super duper awesome map. its a handy dandy map of the u.s.a., one side political, one side physical. i'm in love with maps. they're a kind of information i always stop for. a coffee shop near my college had its bathroom wall-papered in various maps. maps of cities, regions, countries, continents, worlds, parks, neighborhoods, etc. maps are the best we've done, in a way, to tell the story of our earth. they're amazing documents, they're like the face of an ancient old man, with every wrinkle and put there by so much laughter about this, or so much crying about that. each fold of skin is an entire emotional history made physical; tangible.

every so often, i go on google earth. yes, the really invasive one. but what i do, is i look up the most exotic places i can think of. hawaii, barbados, jamaica. and its all satellite imagery; its the closest i can get to being in space, looking down upon these places.

and i choose islands, because i like them, and because they're like these tiny droplets, scattered across the blue ocean. i can only handle one island at a time. and i zoom in, until its a patchwork of water, and green plains, and dark mountains, and black lava, and blocky greys of human settlement. and clouds arc over the land and water. and i don't think i've been any closer to tears recently than just looking at these exquisite... i don't know whats. stories. histories. paintings. testaments. but if you have the time, i highly recommend.