kristin and I were joking about a "is this person dateable" criteria test, and she said hers was asking whether or not the contender in question was into leonard cohen. I think that mine will have to be something about glen hansard or the frames (since once could be too obvious). not that dating, or even making out, or any of that is anywhere even close on the horizon... maybe never, is what it really feels like right now. but I've been told that a very valuable tool right now, in the midst of what I don't want, is to make a list of what I do want, for future reference. and music inside the very bones of our being - well, that's part of what I want. it's part of what I am.
this came about writing to her last night about being so frustrated here, at the end of so many ropes... and somewhere in my ranting and swearing I said something to the effect of how if he saw once, even if he managed to stay awake through it, that he wouldn't understand - and how I could hope to build anything with anyone that was that detached from what I consider to be such a crucial part of... well, me, everything, existence, whatever - was just useless and insane. I used to say a hundred years ago that part of my criteria was to be with another deadhead, because really, how can you love anyone that's not? and it was so important, and I would get drunk and just spew on and on about it, about crucial connections and such.
I guess I wasn't that far off.
this triggers memories of sitting in viva's, fake recorded interviews with strangers, and substituting the word "psychotic" for "psychic" and waiting to see who caught on. most people didn't.
the walls around me are starting to change. pictures are coming down, stuff is emptying out, and it's all around just happening.
other things from today, specifically, from writing with kristin:
she's cleaning out a closet for me. because I'm leaving here. and going to seattle. for real. in less than three weeks. and there's nothing here that's scaring me into staying or away from going - clean slates abound everywhere I look. I'm pushing through stepwork with gale. I'm settling debts. I'm squaring up, cleaning house, and building bridges instead of walls. walking out of a house with open doors, just a few slammed shut, but mostly open doors.
I'm also picturing where I may wind up living, should I stay in seattle, and what my place would look like. a futon or something, of course, since I'd wind up in a studio I'm sure. over it, maybe one of those mosquito nets and some little lights, because I like forts, and there's no reason to wait to build one with friends or lovers, when you can have a little tent for yourself all the time, so that every night could be slumber party night, even all alone. windows, kind of high up for some reason, with a view, a galley kitchen, milk crates, and stuff tacked up all over the walls, especially to see wherever I looked when I woke up, maybe over where the alarm clock is? maybe a coffee table made out of ticket stubs. and a big open spot in the middle of the room where I could paint, because I think I need to do it more, with the computer set up in the corner, and a couple of plants. cha cha, napping in the window. light greens and browns, all beautiful, notebooks, and the only thing that might matter is what I'm creating. I also accidentally (?) wound up finding and bookmarking a site for a temp agency, happening to stumble on a page that asked if I was an artist or a musician, because I could be at that temp agency and have benefits and have steady work that fit my life and not the other way around. doesn't that sound spectacular? seattle must be the place where dreams come true, all sparkly and perfect, and wet and grotesque, and everything in between, even elf-farmed twilight beets.
I can not even conceive of being somewhere where most of the people I know speak my language. where everyone is into glen hansard, or at least a lot of people have a good idea of who he is.
upon further research it's not too approved of to get a finger tattoo, but I think I'm going to do it anyway.
I'm beyond tired. my blissful bed beckons.
bon courage,
victoria