Friday, June 26, 2009

unfinished sketch #1

These are things that are in my body.
Cartoon containers of leftovers.
Sensations caused by summer grass on my skin.
Ghosts of flying, made up while unconscious.
Some sort of fluid mass, which travels.
There is a little bit of everything I have eaten.
And everything I have felt.
And everyone I have know.
My first boyfriend, it's the feel of his hand.
My second, his smell.
The third, the weight of him.
These are in the container of myself, my body.

I discovered, recently, what happens when someone goes away.
There is a small burst.
A spreading of debris.
A heaviness and the resulting black matter consolidates.
Ashley, I found, was held midway between my heart and my gut.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

days of the week as they pass through my system

This is an actual conversation that I had today, around 8am:

"It's Tuesday."
"No... I think it's Wednesday."
"Wait... no... it's Tuesday."
"No... it's Wednesday. Yeah, um, it's Wednesday."

You can decide which half of that I was.

My back figgin' hurts. I've been taking Cunnningham classes, and all that tilting and shifting and curving is way more than my poor spine is used to. But it's super duper good for the body, I feel. I almost want to seek out Cunningham classes, but I don't know if anyone teaches them regularly in the Bay Area.

I'm on the edge of really really wanting something very specific, and that is scary. I don't know the last time I let myself want something specific. Wanting in a general sense is much easier, such as: I want to dance. There are multiple ways to fufill that, and it would be odd if I didn't find a way to do so. Wanting to dance for someone in particular though, that allows the person to say no. Or we don't have room. Or not now. There are as many ways to be denied something specific that there are to fufill something general.

I am on the edge of letting myself want, held back by the fear of what it would feel like to be denied.

I had a low-confidence day today. And I was tired.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

I am probably in SoMa, the Mission, or the Sunset. Guess! Guess!

I am not nearly cool enough to be in this cafe, and yet here I am, drinking all your ice water and inhaling a pastry.

These are things that I have wanted to write about lately:
- "These are things that are inside my body"
- "Memoirs of pre-show"

I'm tired, guys! The coffee stopped helping a couple of hours ago! And my to do list for next week just exploded! And I want to take more ballet classes! And I want to spend all day dancing! And I want to be there for you, and everyone else! And I just want to retreat into myself and realize where I am!

Thursday, June 11, 2009

in the middle of the night (like a sleepwalker)

Just had to post that today, over email (because anything interesting that happens to me happens over email), somebody told me:

You are better than a valium!!!!! "

Now, that is something I have never been told before, but I suppose it is a compliment.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

let's make a circle

I put all my stuff in boxes, moved them 26 blocks directly eastward and up a flight of stairs, and then disassembled them all. This new room looks a lot like my old room. In fact, these are the same things in it that I have used since college or, in some cases, for as long as I can remember. The blankets on my double bed are for the twin bed I grew up with, and even though I read these books years ago I continue to schlep them around with me, move after move after move.

This move was precipitated by the motive: I want some sunlight to call my own. Really, that's all. My old landlord didn't believe me. "Come on, Julia! You knew the room didn't have a window when you moved in!" he said. Which is true. I had also never lived in a room without a window, and so I resolved to call it cozy and secluded and did so for 2 years. Now feeling that enough is enough, I have some natural light to call my own.

An amazing thing happened this morning. Despite the fog and general dreariness at 7am, after getting dressed I opened my blinds, and turned off the overhead light. Packed my bag through the gray light coming through, yes, my window.

I have come to accept the fact that anything within my price range will come with at least one quirk. The ones from my old place: no window, no closet, small space below ground. The most noticeable of this place: street noise, unusual flatmate, small space.

Small, well, I do live in San Francisco. We pay a lot for the atmosphere, I suppose, not how much space we can claim to shove full of stuff we can claim.

Street noise: I live in the hub of the Sunset District - on 9th Avenue in between Irving and Judah. The N Judah train goes by my window, so does a bus. So do many pedestrians, coming and going from the various cafes, restaurants, and bars all within half a block of where I am.

There are times in the past that I would see someone going in to an apartment on a busy street and dream about the romanticism of it, of having a private space in the middle of a public meeting ground. And here I am.

Also, my desk is under my window and I can look out at everyone and wonder about their lives. My flatmate says that when the brewery across the street was open you could wave at the people drinking on the second floor. (Much to what would be my father's disappointment, the brewery across the street is now closed.)

Quirk 2: unusual flatmate. A writer/artist/activist/athiest/vegetarian (fish ok), 40ish year-old man who I really enjoy being around. I don't think everyone would get along with this eccentric character, but I'm enjoying the San Franciscianity of him. My new living room is full of his art, books, and... well... other stuff. Books on food, books on graphic design, books on religion, books on travel - some of which he's written.

So, this is me now. Tonight I unpacked a few more boxes, pumped up my exercise ball, and drank wine out of my watter bottle. Tomorrow I'm moving my kitchen and the few remaining other things from my old place, then I will asses what if any dishes I need - maybe I'll buy a wine glass. Maybe I'll buy 2 wine glasses and plan for visitors!