uh...about May

Did I blink and May barreled past like a semi on the interstate?

It was a month of hard -- and heartbreaking -- work, twelve hour days and rushing to enjoy life in the few hours remaining. 

And also a 1.5 day road trip to the Mississippi Gulf coast, dodging torrents of rain to make the best of it, hitting up thrift shops and a moldering bookstore, arcades and casinos and an amazing Vietnamese bakery and finally enjoying one damp walk along the beach. 

Then, a few days in New York City, to see friends and meet their sweet new baby, an alert four-month-old, eat Mexican food together and laugh; to see NE family and visit the 9/11 museum, and to check out a friend's photography exhibit at ICP and also, oh my goodness, Superfine, the fashion and history show of a lifetime, and the FIT graduate show, and then drinks with a dear Brooklyn punk rocker.

It was also a month of loss, of realizing two friendships that were important to me, one decades long and one more recent, were suddenly uneven and frustrating and floundering and were they maybe not even really friendships? That gut-emptying feeling of ah, so I like them more than they like me. Of feeling foolish and slow and stupid for trusting people with my thoughts, my time, my true self.

Relationships are a gamble I guess, and I'll learn and the hurt will heal but it's hard not to think of these as losses.  

 

once it’s out, you’re done for

Good LORD it has been a week.

As a writer I know I need to find the words, but I’m struggling.

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So much is going on and yes I’m going to vague-blog for now, sorry, but it’s everything, writing and work and family and misophonia and life and

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I feel exhausted from the inside out, charred like a stump that got hit by lightning and smoldered for awhile.

Energized, raw, with a slight danger of collapse.

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Misophonia outwits my most valiant attempts at being among friends in a public space. I snapped at beloveds the other night at an outdoor show. I knew I was going to, knew it would spoil the evening, heard the words exit my lips & saw their faces register my irritation & desperately tried to reel it all back in but I could not, in the same way you can’t re-roll a sleeping bag back into its little nylon case or put toothpaste back in the tube. It was in there, compressed and tidy and coiled to escape.

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Once it’s out, you’re done for.

80/20

At work we frequently use the "80/20" rule, which means that you can't fix everything and sometimes you have to focus on a solution that resolves 80% of the problem and not waste all your time on the 20%.
The world seems to have gone mad, or maybe we are getting what we deserve, I don't really know, but today I want to focus on the good stuff.
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I was lucky enough to get to a couple of farmer's markets this week. It's been a mild summer and we are beyond fortunate to enjoy scrumptious vegetables and fruit--I scooped up Nash's first carrots of the summer, along with plump cauliflower heads and a big bag of broccoli, amazing garlic from Jarvis (Spanish Roja and Polish Hardneck), lovely fresh-picked peaches, green beans, zucchini, corn, and a big box of Mutiny Bay blueberries.

Yesterday I bused over to the Seafair Pow Wow at Discovery Park (at the Daybreak Star Indian Cultural Center). All around, people greeted friends, an SPD officer mingled with the crowd and got in line with us for frybread with honey, a giggling couple let me help with their frybread selfie, vendors sold drums and bundled herbs and t-shirts and the line for plank-grilled salmon stretched dozens long. At 7pm the Coastal Grand Entry began, dancers and performers in their tribal regalia proceeded into the big grassy circle, in front of elders and drummers and hundreds of viewers. I wept a little. Despite the mass murder and deprivations we've inflicted upon our tribes for centuries, they persist, they thrive, and this weekend, they celebrate.

And in music: a couple of weeks ago I went to a show at High Dive with some friends. Ever So Android was the headliner and they slayed (and I realized the female half of the duo works at one of my favorite coffee shops!). The second opener tho--Monsterwatch--wow. I wouldn't identify myself as a metalhead but I heart these kids. There was crowdsurfing, a smallish mosh pit, and at one point, the lead singer flung himself to the floor between me and one of my buddies, continuing to play guitar and sing as he lay there. I lost half my whiskey when he wrenched himself back to the stage, but it was a fun night of abandon and a great show.

well anyway

I'm feeling abandoned and unimportant.
There's no one to discuss this with. How would I even start?
Which leads to, I'm feeling mad at myself for not doing the things I know I love so that the first thing doesn't matter so much. So, enough of the Pity Partie and onwards to photos, music, people, writing, creating, laughs, art, and the night.
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Re-reading the biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay, I wish the author wasn't so coyly trying to understand-slash-explain ESVM's dichotomies. Why couldn't she be passionate and an addict and wildly creative and loving and cruel, a terrific and terrible spouse, a woman known widely and not at all? Hello, almost every male writer evar. The sexist double standard endures, no, it flourishes.

beyond

 A friend told me this week that they have been communicating with "the other side." Confused, I asked who exactly they meant--Republicans? People on the East coast?
This friend had consulted a pet communicator to say some things to a beloved dog about to undergo surgery. In addition to clearing some things up with both of the household's dogs, the communicator also had some messages from relatives of friend. Deceased relatives. And, from my friend's spirit guides.
The communication was part verbal and part experience and even as my friend kept saying "I know this sounds crazy" I couldn't help but notice that their demeanor was supercharged, glowing, ecstatic almost.
My friend asked if I wanted to talk to my momash and I'll be honest, it scared the shit out of me. I didn't sleep much that night.
My friend definitely heard some things that might make life easier. I'm not sure I can say the same for myself.
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Then I dreamed of momash two nights ago. In the dream, I was lying on the floor of a bedroom, sobbing, "I miss her so much." I woke up in tears.
Yesterday, news that a friend's father suffered a fatal heart attack while hiking in Arizona. Two weeks ago, a bunch of us met up for dumplings and laughs with this friend and his parents. He was an active, smart, hilarious and generous man and I can scarcely believe he is gone. My heart aches.
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Last night, the much-anticipated Lady Gaga show with good friends and a new one. I wore towering gold sandals just because, and I'm hungover and my feet are killing me. It was a glorious night.
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photos are reflections in the window of the Union 76 on 45th.