Things are pretty dire right now. My unemployment has ended, and
today I am placing my beloved bird Cricket in a new home. If I
let myself think about it all more than a couple seconds I melt into a
puddle of fear and sadness.
So I need to focus on a good thing for at least a few moments.
I
have a history of being a sad bastard on my birthday. It's always been
less about getting older (though that is becoming more of a factor
these days) and mTore about having way too many expectations and then
being disappointed when no one lives up to them. (The month is still
young, however, and there is still time for me to catch up!)
There
was, though, the year (2008? I think it was?) my old book club and my
friend D.P., in particular, had the sweetest and most thoughtful little
surprise celebration for me at our monthly meeting. I still have the
origami cranes from that. And the melted record album bowl. And the
cards. Because it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for
me.
Anyway.
Ivan called me from
work on Thursday, breathless with excitement. I was surprised, because
usually when he calls from work he sounds much more tired. He started
telling me what all errands he'd run during a couple hours he had off
earlier in the afternoon, and then he burst in with, "and I got you
something!"
He told me all about how he had wanted to
find me something so special, something that could possibly convey the
depth of his love ("That's a lot of expectations for one present," I
pointed out as he shushed my skepticism.)
"I went to
Haight Street," he said, "because there are so many weird goddamn shops
close together that I figured if I was going to find something for you
it would be there." I rolled my eyes. "Did you know there's a store
there for Edwardian fashion? Like, nice stuff. I bet they only get
customers one time a year..."
"Halloween," I broke in, just as he said, "Burning man."
"Anyway,"
he continued, "I went from store to store. I even went into the
Edwardian place. Who knows? Maybe they have something for you in
there. But I couldn't find anything. I could find anything just
right. That said what I wanted to say. I gave up. Honey, I had given
up! And then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye. There it was!"
"What, in a window?" I asked.
He
went on to tell me about how the store clerk had been so helpful to him
as they examined his options. My curiosity grew and grew.
"You're
going to love it!" he promised. "You're going to know instantly why I
got it for you and you're going to understand what you mean to me."
This
was dramatic language even for Ivan. I could barely disguise my doubt
and disbelief, though I was completely intrigued by whatever item he
thought could accomplish all this.
He wasn't done.
"Also
I'm going to prove you wrong over what you said at Christmas. How you
said I didn't get you at all. I do get you! I get you and I love you
so much! You mean so much to me. Do you want it now? Yes! Let me
give it to you now! I don't think I can wait."
I was
completely blown away by the level of enthusiasm he was showing for this
(and it doesn't even involve Warhammer!) but I said, "Look. You would
not believe the history I have for negotiating my presents early. But I
want to wait for this one. Things have been so hard for so long for us
and my birthdays usually feel so crappy to me that it would be really
nice to have something to look forward to on my birthday."
He
was doubtful and pointed out that he had to work on my birthday and I
would be home alone with the baby. I knew that, though. And I don't
even need the present. The thought and effort that he put into really
touched me, and this birthday, in one of the last days that I will be
able to stay home with my girl before something--one way or
another--changes. This is enough.
Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts
January 19, 2013
September 7, 2011
What it's like
In September of 2008, I was raped on a date. I never told anyone. I mean I never told ANYONE. Not a doctor, or a therapist, or a best friend. No one. I was so embarrassed and ashamed this had happened to me, and I felt so stupid that I had not kept myself safe. I felt like all that money for all those fucking degrees ought to have been good for something, and here I couldn't even take care of myself. Normally so forthcoming and expansive, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to be told what to do or who to talk to. I didn't want to be asked any questions. I didn't want to explain. I just wanted to forget. Up until that point I felt like I'd been a fairly healthy woman with a fairly healthy sex life, and I was convinced I could maintain that through sheer will.
By the end of the same month, I had started to completely fall apart.
Anxiety seemed to ooze from my pores. I couldn't relax. I had recently started my first job and bought a car and suddenly I felt like I was losing control of everything. I couldn't sleep. I would be awake for three days straight. Not just awake, really, but AWAKE! I needed to talk, I needed to write, I needed to make things. Things to say were erupting out of me and I was unable to control them. I made greeting cards and little boxes. I started writing. I wrote all over my walls, in fact, and pounded out long missives on my computer in ALL CAPS because I WAS RUNNING OUT OF SPACE INSIDE TO PUT ALL OF THIS SHIT.
The lack of sleep made me wild-eyed and crazed, and the long commute to work (not to mention actual work) because impossible. The panic attacks started in earnest around this time, and they made me feel desperate and doomed and frantic. I had them everywhere--in my office, in my car, alone in my bed, in the shower. No place was safe.
I can remember driving home from work, my fingers clutching the steering wheel for dear life. I rocked back and forth furiously chanting:
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
One day on the drive home I felt so terrified to go home and be alone that I phoned ahead to Nannette and pleaded for her to let me come over as soon as I was back in the city. She told me I was welcome to come, and I fiercely held onto that as I drove. But by the time I got back to San Francisco, I was frantic again and couldn't bear to be around anyone. To her confusion, I told her I couldn't come.
Some nights she let me sleep on her couch because I didn't want to be alone.
I became obsessed with the Golden Gate Bridge. I needed to look at that bridge! I needed to see it, to drive on it, to read about it, and watch videos of people jumping off of it. I needed to know just how deep it was in the bay underneath. It felt important to know just how far down there was to go. I read, "San Francisco Bay is relatively shallow but reaches depths of 100 feet in some places." I had dreams about it. I dreamed of what it felt like when my feet left the side, and I dreamed of what I saw on the way down. I dreamed of the sound my back made when it broke upon hitting the water, and I dreamed of the light disappearing above me. I decided that the exact point at which I would jump off would be 98 feet deep, and I needed to keep that number in my head constantly. I wrote the number 98. I cut the corners out of books that showed page 98. I made a box I called "98 feet deep."
The awful part about it was that I didn't WANT to jump off. I didn't want to! It terrified and horrified me to think about it. But I was obsessed with it. My brain wouldn't leave it alone.
The days without sleep were punctuated by complete crashes. Depression and sobbing and apathy, days I called off work because I just could not function. After Nannette pleaded with me to see someone, I sent my doctor an email. All I could think to say was, "I'm going down fast." On my 32nd birthday, she had me come in for an appointment.
My doctor is wonderful, and she urged me to apply for disability and to see a psychiatrist as well as a therapist. I was getting in deeper and deeper shit at work, but I insisted to her that I could still work--didn't need the time off. I regret deeply that I didn't take her advice, but I was determined to hold on to the balls I was trying to juggle by the skin of my teeth.
Eventually, I got fired. I lost a lot of friends when they didn't understand what was going on or the decisions I made. I made a mess of relationships. I lost my baby.
These days I struggle with leaving the house, with seeing people. It feels like the only place I can be remotely safe is in my apartment, because the outside world is much too scary and unpredictable. The last time I tried to have brunch with a friend, I had to force myself to go. I threatened and begged and cajoled myself to go, and when I got home, my beloved bird was dead. A voice inside of me whispered, "I knew this would happen." It is a lonely existence.
I am taking medication now--slowly--and I have told exactly four people what happened to me. It honestly didn't occur to me until a couple months ago how all these things might be tied together. I'm sure I've told portions of my story in this venue before as I recounted my struggles with mental illness, but it has never been told in this complete fashion. I feel somewhat horrified as I type these words that now it will be OUT THERE and PEOPLE WILL KNOW and I CAN'T TAKE IT BACK.
But I needed to tell my story.
By the end of the same month, I had started to completely fall apart.
Anxiety seemed to ooze from my pores. I couldn't relax. I had recently started my first job and bought a car and suddenly I felt like I was losing control of everything. I couldn't sleep. I would be awake for three days straight. Not just awake, really, but AWAKE! I needed to talk, I needed to write, I needed to make things. Things to say were erupting out of me and I was unable to control them. I made greeting cards and little boxes. I started writing. I wrote all over my walls, in fact, and pounded out long missives on my computer in ALL CAPS because I WAS RUNNING OUT OF SPACE INSIDE TO PUT ALL OF THIS SHIT.
The lack of sleep made me wild-eyed and crazed, and the long commute to work (not to mention actual work) because impossible. The panic attacks started in earnest around this time, and they made me feel desperate and doomed and frantic. I had them everywhere--in my office, in my car, alone in my bed, in the shower. No place was safe.
I can remember driving home from work, my fingers clutching the steering wheel for dear life. I rocked back and forth furiously chanting:
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
One day on the drive home I felt so terrified to go home and be alone that I phoned ahead to Nannette and pleaded for her to let me come over as soon as I was back in the city. She told me I was welcome to come, and I fiercely held onto that as I drove. But by the time I got back to San Francisco, I was frantic again and couldn't bear to be around anyone. To her confusion, I told her I couldn't come.
Some nights she let me sleep on her couch because I didn't want to be alone.
I became obsessed with the Golden Gate Bridge. I needed to look at that bridge! I needed to see it, to drive on it, to read about it, and watch videos of people jumping off of it. I needed to know just how deep it was in the bay underneath. It felt important to know just how far down there was to go. I read, "San Francisco Bay is relatively shallow but reaches depths of 100 feet in some places." I had dreams about it. I dreamed of what it felt like when my feet left the side, and I dreamed of what I saw on the way down. I dreamed of the sound my back made when it broke upon hitting the water, and I dreamed of the light disappearing above me. I decided that the exact point at which I would jump off would be 98 feet deep, and I needed to keep that number in my head constantly. I wrote the number 98. I cut the corners out of books that showed page 98. I made a box I called "98 feet deep."
The awful part about it was that I didn't WANT to jump off. I didn't want to! It terrified and horrified me to think about it. But I was obsessed with it. My brain wouldn't leave it alone.
The days without sleep were punctuated by complete crashes. Depression and sobbing and apathy, days I called off work because I just could not function. After Nannette pleaded with me to see someone, I sent my doctor an email. All I could think to say was, "I'm going down fast." On my 32nd birthday, she had me come in for an appointment.
My doctor is wonderful, and she urged me to apply for disability and to see a psychiatrist as well as a therapist. I was getting in deeper and deeper shit at work, but I insisted to her that I could still work--didn't need the time off. I regret deeply that I didn't take her advice, but I was determined to hold on to the balls I was trying to juggle by the skin of my teeth.
Eventually, I got fired. I lost a lot of friends when they didn't understand what was going on or the decisions I made. I made a mess of relationships. I lost my baby.
These days I struggle with leaving the house, with seeing people. It feels like the only place I can be remotely safe is in my apartment, because the outside world is much too scary and unpredictable. The last time I tried to have brunch with a friend, I had to force myself to go. I threatened and begged and cajoled myself to go, and when I got home, my beloved bird was dead. A voice inside of me whispered, "I knew this would happen." It is a lonely existence.
I am taking medication now--slowly--and I have told exactly four people what happened to me. It honestly didn't occur to me until a couple months ago how all these things might be tied together. I'm sure I've told portions of my story in this venue before as I recounted my struggles with mental illness, but it has never been told in this complete fashion. I feel somewhat horrified as I type these words that now it will be OUT THERE and PEOPLE WILL KNOW and I CAN'T TAKE IT BACK.
But I needed to tell my story.
October 27, 2010
The haps
Dear Diary,
It's been awhile since I wrote. Since I broke my rib, things have been kind of slow. For the past couple of weeks I have been taking a lot of drugs and sleeping and wishing for the pain to go away. Things are still plodding along, though.
Early Friday morning, my little yellow bird Petey passed away after a sudden and very brief illness. I held Petey and had her beside me during the last hours of her life, and I cried and I cried when she was gone. There is no sweet little yellow bird swinging enthusiastically in my life anymore, and her boyfriend Sammy is quite lonely and inconsolable.
Ivan and I continue to navigate the challenges of life together. This rainy weekend Darius stayed with us and we (well, Ivan) carved jack-o-lanterns. I roasted pumpkin seeds even though I was the only one with a taste for them.
I continue to struggle with terrible anxiety. I am anxious about everything! Past, present, and future--I do not discriminate. I start the morning with intense fear and dread. I beg Ivan to hug me and tell me everything will be okay.
It will, won't it?
Love,
Amie
It's been awhile since I wrote. Since I broke my rib, things have been kind of slow. For the past couple of weeks I have been taking a lot of drugs and sleeping and wishing for the pain to go away. Things are still plodding along, though.
Early Friday morning, my little yellow bird Petey passed away after a sudden and very brief illness. I held Petey and had her beside me during the last hours of her life, and I cried and I cried when she was gone. There is no sweet little yellow bird swinging enthusiastically in my life anymore, and her boyfriend Sammy is quite lonely and inconsolable.
Ivan and I continue to navigate the challenges of life together. This rainy weekend Darius stayed with us and we (well, Ivan) carved jack-o-lanterns. I roasted pumpkin seeds even though I was the only one with a taste for them.
I continue to struggle with terrible anxiety. I am anxious about everything! Past, present, and future--I do not discriminate. I start the morning with intense fear and dread. I beg Ivan to hug me and tell me everything will be okay.
It will, won't it?
Love,
Amie
April 26, 2010
November 24, 2009
All this grateful (and ungrateful) business
Several people I know are naming something they're grateful for on Facebook every day until Thanksgiving. Even though these are friends of mine and very lovely people, this practice makes me a little nauseous. Probably because I am cranky and cantankerous and bitter and jaded.
Still.
I thought I'd do my own version here. I wanted my version to include a lament about the things I am ungrateful for, too.
Please excuse any sap that may follow, and if you think it will nauseate you too much, you might want to take a rain check on this blog entry.
Things I am grateful for:
- Friends I can call when I’m sitting in my car for hours because I don’t know where to go.
- Little birdie belly feathers.
- Getting a teaching job for the spring semester because I will be much less broke in the months to come.
- My grandparents and my aunt, without whom I would probably be dead, in prison, or on crack. Possibly all three.
- Nannette. For being my friend during the most challenging years of my life thus far, even when it was hard for her, and for talking sense into me on one very dark evening. Without her I would have left San Francisco behind already.
- Cindy. For knowing me almost better than I know myself; for being insane in nearly identical ways to myself (and I say that with love), for listening to me at times when I am nearly incoherent, and for being my first grown up best friend.
- Christopher. For loving me when I was unable to love myself.
- My many friends at work who make each day Monday through Friday more bearable, who put up with me dropping into their offices when I need a break, and without whom I would have taken a bazooka to the joint. Ruben, Shayna, Wendi, Laurie, Tamara, Jodi, John, Peggy, and Diana: I love you to pieces.
- For a free washer and dryer in my building. SCORE!
- For Yan, Patrick, Scott, Brian, Amber & Suzie, Judith, Amber, Shannon, Dave, Kelli, Jenny, Tony, Lauren, and Cyrano for taking me out, getting me drunk, calling me, texting me, sending me sweet packages, going to dinner with me, inviting me to their parties, visiting me in the hospital, and letting me crash at their houses even if I was far away (mentally or physically), drank too much, didn't call back, was doped up on morphine, and/or didn't show up.
- Danita and Nan, for treating me as part of the family no matter what.
- The color green for adorning my walls, pants, shoes, umbrellas, and coats and for cheering me up in the most ridiculous and random ways.
- The funniest, weirdest, and most thoughtful book club in the history of the world.
Things I am not grateful for:
- Several days without antidepressants because I am totally broke.
- Four parking tickets waiting to be paid.
- E. for making up his mind, J.H. for not being in the right mental space at the right time, P. for breaking my heart, and J.T. for what amounted to persistent booty calls.
- A very specific person whom I see five days a week who makes me distinctly unhappy, treats me like I am stupid and incompetent, has unreasonable expectations, seems to always suspect that I have or am about to screw her over, and blames me for what feels like everything.
- C.J.B. for leaving without saying goodbye and re-smashing my heart into itty bitty pieces.
- The raccoon fight club that meets nightly behind my house.
September 14, 2009
September 9, 2009
April 30, 2009
March 19, 2009
Grandmother; swallows
(Perhaps I should separate those two topics better.)
Today, March 19, has been two years since my grandmother died.
Today is also apparently the day the swallows return to San Juan Capistrano, CA.
Today, March 19, has been two years since my grandmother died.
Today is also apparently the day the swallows return to San Juan Capistrano, CA.
March 18, 2009
Hours of entertaining myself
I found this book on clearance at Border's: The Bird Songs Anthology (200 birds from North America and Beyond featuring Audio from The Cornell Lab of Ornithology). It's like a See 'n Say of bird species because you can listen to the different calls and clucks of each bird. My own birdies get very worked up when I play it, and I never seem to get tired of hearing them squawk in unison at each bird call. I am very careful not to play the cries of their natural predators, however; that would be cruel.
I am now working on or have completed 7 boxes! This morning I got up extra early so I could spend some peaceful pre-dawn moments working on one before leaving for the grind. I can lose myself in them for hours. The one I'm working on now is particularly personal to me (and that's saying a lot because they ALL are personal to me) and involves cutting the page number 98 out of dozens and dozens of my books to be put on the box. Perhaps with his fancy new camera and its enviable bokeh capabilities that my own crappy little camera does not share, Matt might assist me in documenting the boxes before I sell or give them away...
December 22, 2008
Looking for a condom alternative?
One of my friends from high school, Brian R., was in town last night with his fiancee. We went out for dinner and drinks and had a lovely time. I was reminded of why I always thought he was one of the nicest guys I knew in high school.
[As indicated in the previous entry] I tossed and turned fitfully last night and was unable to sleep until about 4am. I did a lot of things during that time, including watching YouTube videos. One of the videos I watched was my favorite scene from Love, Actually:
I also watched all the videos I could find on crows and ravens.
When I woke up this morning, all of my hair was standing straight up in the air in a most dramatic fashion. Seriously. Even my eyebrows were pointing upward. I was exhausted and running late for work and tamed it the best that I could before heading out the door. When I arrived, one of my co-workers said, "Wow. Your hair looks very...lion-like today..." and I burst out laughing.
I am researching opportunities to make money on Craigslist. I found a women's research study where you could make $500 testing out a new diaphragm. Unfortunately, it requires that you have sex once or twice. I asked my Magic 8-ball if this is in my future, and it said, "Not a chance."
[As indicated in the previous entry] I tossed and turned fitfully last night and was unable to sleep until about 4am. I did a lot of things during that time, including watching YouTube videos. One of the videos I watched was my favorite scene from Love, Actually:
I also watched all the videos I could find on crows and ravens.
When I woke up this morning, all of my hair was standing straight up in the air in a most dramatic fashion. Seriously. Even my eyebrows were pointing upward. I was exhausted and running late for work and tamed it the best that I could before heading out the door. When I arrived, one of my co-workers said, "Wow. Your hair looks very...lion-like today..." and I burst out laughing.
I am researching opportunities to make money on Craigslist. I found a women's research study where you could make $500 testing out a new diaphragm. Unfortunately, it requires that you have sex once or twice. I asked my Magic 8-ball if this is in my future, and it said, "Not a chance."
Lean
Ugh.
I am awake stressing about money.
Because of budget cutbacks, I can't teach a class next semester. My income at my regular job is not enough to pay for the apartment, car to get to work, and the rest of the bills. I'm starting to feel a little bit on the verge of hysteria, to be honest. I'm strategizing ways to continue to feed the parrots and myself.
I've put in job applications, signed up for product testing and focus group mailing lists (because if you get selected for one they pay you anywhere from $50 to $150 bucks for a couple hours of your time), and started looking around my house for things I might be able to sell. I have a nice coat that my aunt got me that I've only worn once so far. I have a round-trip plane ticket that I got when I was bumped from a flight home. I have an extra TV. I'm getting rid of cable and downgrading my cell phone plan.
Beyond continuing to come up with ways to creatively advertise my greeting cards and putting in additional job applications, I'm not quite sure what else to do.
I don't have the money for Christmas presents. My grandpa is in renal failure. My car got towed and cost me $500.
I'm feeling freaked out and anxious and I needed to vent.
I am awake stressing about money.
Because of budget cutbacks, I can't teach a class next semester. My income at my regular job is not enough to pay for the apartment, car to get to work, and the rest of the bills. I'm starting to feel a little bit on the verge of hysteria, to be honest. I'm strategizing ways to continue to feed the parrots and myself.
I've put in job applications, signed up for product testing and focus group mailing lists (because if you get selected for one they pay you anywhere from $50 to $150 bucks for a couple hours of your time), and started looking around my house for things I might be able to sell. I have a nice coat that my aunt got me that I've only worn once so far. I have a round-trip plane ticket that I got when I was bumped from a flight home. I have an extra TV. I'm getting rid of cable and downgrading my cell phone plan.
Beyond continuing to come up with ways to creatively advertise my greeting cards and putting in additional job applications, I'm not quite sure what else to do.
I don't have the money for Christmas presents. My grandpa is in renal failure. My car got towed and cost me $500.
I'm feeling freaked out and anxious and I needed to vent.
September 16, 2008
At the very thought...
Sometimes it would be nice if I weren't such a baby.
Today at work a letter and a sign-up sheet went around. Apparently, every year my company donates $250 to an organization of every employees choice. We were supposed to write down the name and contact information of where we wanted this money to go. Sociometrics sends a check and a letter to the organization saying that this money was donated on behalf of the employee that chose it. I quickly selected The Bird Rescue Center. The BRC is a nonprofit organization that rescues and rehabilitates orphaned, injured, or sick birds.
I was so happy to be able to help them out more than I can afford to on my own. And at the very thought of birds that need help, I immediately burst into tears while filling out the necessary paperwork.
Honestly. I need a thicker skin.
Today at work a letter and a sign-up sheet went around. Apparently, every year my company donates $250 to an organization of every employees choice. We were supposed to write down the name and contact information of where we wanted this money to go. Sociometrics sends a check and a letter to the organization saying that this money was donated on behalf of the employee that chose it. I quickly selected The Bird Rescue Center. The BRC is a nonprofit organization that rescues and rehabilitates orphaned, injured, or sick birds.
I was so happy to be able to help them out more than I can afford to on my own. And at the very thought of birds that need help, I immediately burst into tears while filling out the necessary paperwork.
Honestly. I need a thicker skin.
November 12, 2007
Birds, pictures of birds in oil
You have probably heard that there was a large oil spill in San Francisco Bay at the end of last week.
It breaks my heart.
Environmental issues, endangered and extinct species, global warming...I find all of them to be painful and heart-wrenching topics, but there's something about oil spills that particularly hurts me. Maybe it's because so many other issues are bigger and more pervasive and more gradual with multiple causes, while events like oil spills are specific, isolated, and preventable occurrences.
I am angry that it happened (how in the HELL do you run into the Bay Bridge?) and I am angered by the city's response to it, but what eats at me most is what happens to the birds. I can't stand it.
Trying to contain the oil:
Boxes of dead birds:
A cormorant that did not survive:
I've been having a lot of dreams about birds the past few days. The most usual situation is that I'm going along, taking care of my birds like normal, and then I enter a room in my house that I had forgotten about. There are all these starving, skeletal birds in there that haven't been fed or watered or loved or played with for months. I am horrified with myself for forgetting them, for neglecting them.
It breaks my heart.
Environmental issues, endangered and extinct species, global warming...I find all of them to be painful and heart-wrenching topics, but there's something about oil spills that particularly hurts me. Maybe it's because so many other issues are bigger and more pervasive and more gradual with multiple causes, while events like oil spills are specific, isolated, and preventable occurrences.
I am angry that it happened (how in the HELL do you run into the Bay Bridge?) and I am angered by the city's response to it, but what eats at me most is what happens to the birds. I can't stand it.
Trying to contain the oil:
Boxes of dead birds:
A cormorant that did not survive:
I've been having a lot of dreams about birds the past few days. The most usual situation is that I'm going along, taking care of my birds like normal, and then I enter a room in my house that I had forgotten about. There are all these starving, skeletal birds in there that haven't been fed or watered or loved or played with for months. I am horrified with myself for forgetting them, for neglecting them.
July 10, 2006
Visions of a Fiery Death
Today is kind of sucking. I haven’t slept the last couple of nights and it’s caught up with me today. I’m grumpy and sluggish and bleary-eyed. The coffee I stopped to get on the way to work is helping. (Yeah, yeah, yeah: Starbuck’s is the devil…etc etc.)
There is also something strange happening to one of my toenails that I’ve never seen in my life. How wretched. I find myself retracing my steps, literally. Is this the result of a recent pedicure? Of the public pool? Of the showers and locker room at my gym? Of my passion for wearing flip floppy shoes no matter what the weather on environmental circumstance? One can only guess. I did put a quick polish disguise on them under my desk at work so they can dry while I write and I don’t repulse too many people.
Things are looking up, though.
I am in charge of planning two events for a particular group of friends. One is a kayaking trip on the San Francisco bay and the other is our next camping trip. As far as the camping, I have two favorite options (that are a reasonable distance away) but am most excited about Russian Gulch—a churning sea cave, waterfall, and skin diving? Awesome. I feel sort of awkward making plans for us to drive more than a couple of hours since I’m not one of the car owners around here. My friend Long is working on getting his VW bus fixed so we can take that. All we need are some flowers painted on the outside, a bong, and a mattress in the back and we’ll fit right in around here. (We would substitute the flowers and mattress for some guns and Hawaiian shirts if we were in L.A....ala Hunter S. Thompson.)
I am also heading to the east coast for a rather whirlwind trip in just a couple of days. I’m feeling overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I’m trying to fit into a short period of time, but I plan to soak up every bit of fun possible. I think my west coast friends will be happy for me to shut up about my trip for awhile—at least for a couple of months until I buy my next plane ticket home. As per usual I’ll make sure at least two people are lined up to adopt my birds in case of a screaming, fiery airplane death on the way there. On that note, happy travels to me!
San Luis Reservoir
http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=558
Russian Gulch State Park
http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=432
There is also something strange happening to one of my toenails that I’ve never seen in my life. How wretched. I find myself retracing my steps, literally. Is this the result of a recent pedicure? Of the public pool? Of the showers and locker room at my gym? Of my passion for wearing flip floppy shoes no matter what the weather on environmental circumstance? One can only guess. I did put a quick polish disguise on them under my desk at work so they can dry while I write and I don’t repulse too many people.
Things are looking up, though.
I am in charge of planning two events for a particular group of friends. One is a kayaking trip on the San Francisco bay and the other is our next camping trip. As far as the camping, I have two favorite options (that are a reasonable distance away) but am most excited about Russian Gulch—a churning sea cave, waterfall, and skin diving? Awesome. I feel sort of awkward making plans for us to drive more than a couple of hours since I’m not one of the car owners around here. My friend Long is working on getting his VW bus fixed so we can take that. All we need are some flowers painted on the outside, a bong, and a mattress in the back and we’ll fit right in around here. (We would substitute the flowers and mattress for some guns and Hawaiian shirts if we were in L.A....ala Hunter S. Thompson.)
I am also heading to the east coast for a rather whirlwind trip in just a couple of days. I’m feeling overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I’m trying to fit into a short period of time, but I plan to soak up every bit of fun possible. I think my west coast friends will be happy for me to shut up about my trip for awhile—at least for a couple of months until I buy my next plane ticket home. As per usual I’ll make sure at least two people are lined up to adopt my birds in case of a screaming, fiery airplane death on the way there. On that note, happy travels to me!
San Luis Reservoir
http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=558
Russian Gulch State Park
http://www.parks.ca.gov/default.asp?page_id=432
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