I'm back at the bus stop again. the one across the street from Civic Center. City Hall is beautifully lit by white lights. Last month, for some ungodly reason, it was lit with red lights, and when the fog rolled in it was positively eerie. Okay, here comes the bus, so this post needs to end before it gets started good ):
Last night I spent in one of my favorite cafes working on the novel. The staff is cool, the coffee is good, and the atmosphere is great. Made some good progress -- not enough -- but progress none the less. This final section is pretty messy in a lot of ways, so I'm having to rewrite much more than I anticipated. Ah well.
Okay, so about that headline. Well, despite the tasteful decor of the cafe, they always have these ballo0n caricatures created by this fellow called "The Balloon Guy". They're odd, for sure, but generally very elaborate. A couple weeks ago they hung these monkeys from the ceiling. Your eyes naturally go up to them as you're sitting in one of the comfy armchairs, sipping your hot or cold drink. Anyway, as balloons are wont to do, these monkeys are now going limp. But not consistently. One area that hasn't gone down are their testicles -- creating oversized testicles on limp monkeys as the headline states.
Don't get me wrong -- I have nothing against anatomically correct art, but there's something a little strange about balloon monkey testicles. Were they intentional, or merely a happy coincidence of the creation process? Of course, the fact that they don't have penises makes the image even more incongruous -- limp monkeys with oversized testicles but no penises. Yes, this ran through my mind numerous times as I worked, because every time I looked up from my tablet, that's what I saw.
Now they weren't the only balloon sculpture. No sir! They even had a life-size human man sitting at one of the tables with a balloon latte! I kid you not. But as far as I could see, he had no testicles. So as disturbing as that image was, it paled when compared to my monkey friends.
Okay, I'm in. I heard about Ghost Story Weekend a couple years ago and I've wanted to attend ever since. This year, I got in.
What's Ghost Story Weekend? Well, horror novelist Elizabeth Engstrom runs this periodically, at a retreat on the blustery coast of Oregon. 13 people gather for the weekend to share meals, get a bit of instruction on the ghost story, and pen their own. On Saturday, at midnight, the participants read their stories to each other by candlelight.
What's not to like about that?
There's laundry to do, but first, I need to go see mom. And hope she sees me. And not get all weepy if she doesn't. Last week, she never saw me, but saw a couple of her care takers. I guess that's to be expected.
It's 10:36 and I'm writing this from bed. It feels like procrastination. My list of things to get done is long. Will require some very strong magic to make it happen. I don't think I can bring the magic today.
Why am I here? Why am I back on LJ? I've been blogging on blogger because it just seems less constrictive in many ways. And with a tool I have (Windows Live Writer + Plugin), I can "ink" my entries if I like, or embellish them with little doodles, which I very much like.
But I missed you guys.
Recently I've reconnected with a couple of you and it's been incredibly nice (oh, and before I forget, thanks sflore for introducing me to that cheap diner -- went back and spent $4.50 on a COMPLETE breakfast!!! Wow! -- next time I'm getting what you got,! Let me know if/when you wanna go back!).
Life has been busy since I last wrote here -- equal mix of good and stuff I could do without, but that's not the reason I'm back. Really, I just wanted to say "hello
The other day I ran into one of my neighbors. She's one of the sweetest people on the planet, and though we care for each other, our paths only cross once or twice a month. Anyway, she asked about my parents/situation, and when I told her, she took me in her arms and almost cried. Which made me nearly cry. And in the end, I think we were both uncomfortable with this sharing, this moment, because we stretched it out painfully long.
As I write this, I'm thinking that I'm wrong again. That opening up about it is the right thing to do. I believe that, but for some reason, it just doesn't feel right. I know I'm still trying to deal with this. Until I do, I guess I just want to talk about books and movies and friends and all the stuff that doesn't really matter, as I come to grips with what does.
That said, things have been rough for me. Moved the folks into an assisted living facility on Sunday. The cost is astronomical, so we'll be selling their house sooner than emotionally viable. Mom's Alzheimer's is now very extreme...along with it, she's experiencing anxiety and daily psychotic breaks. Dad's body is full of fluid, so he had to be admitted to the hospital yesterday. He cried. My sister told me she's thinking about leaving her husband -- not because she doesn't love him or because he's done her wrong, it's just the opposite. It's because with the folks many concerns, she hasn't been able to spend any time with him, and he's been taking care of the house, the bills, etc, in her absence.
I'm trying to work through all this. My contract is EXTREME, but the people I work for are good, and kind, and worthy of respect. I need the money, so I didn't bail on them. It just means that working until 5 in the morning, hopped up on caffeine and Twinkies, is so reminiscent of finals week. Every week has been finals week of one sort or another.
A friend recently told me "there will be plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead". He was talking about himself, but I can relate.
Maybe 2006...(the sleep thing -- hopefully not the dead part!)
That's right, after months of anticipation and fingernail biting, I finally got my tome (hereafter refered to as "Gargoyle #50") in the mail. This magazine is HUGE, but you don't have to delve too far in for the good stuff. 32 pages, to be exact. That's where Sflore's "poem" lies in wait. It's a great little piece that you'll certainly be more evolved for having read. Succinct, subtle and evocative. Leaves you on just the right note. But it's not her best piece -- I can say this because I've read more -- so it's obvious to me that this is the first of many, many pieces to be published. And eventually, collected!
So, in the inimitable words of Claudia in Interview with the Vampire: "I want some more."
Hmmm...maybe the author will see this post and offer to sign my copy?
and there's a dusty old dust storm on mars, they say
so tonight you can't see it too clear
still I stood in line to look through their telescope
looked like a distant ship light
as seen from a foggy pier
and I know that I was warned
still it was not what I hoped
yes I know that I was warned
still it was not what I hoped
I think I'm done gunnin to get closer
to some imagined bliss
I gotta knuckle down
and just be ok with this
I'm gonna knuckle down
just be ok with this
'course that starstruck girl is already someone I miss