Friday, June 27, 2008

storm in michigan

This was the storm we had a few weeks ago from safely inside. Well kinda. I did use my barefoot to keep the metal screen door open, but as soon as I realized what the headline would read if I died this way, I closed the door. :)


Wednesday, June 25, 2008

My Son is Gay?

Happy Pride! This made me so bust out. Remembering when I came out to my folks. They were wonderful in that they told me "no matter what, we love you." They drove me nuts in that my mother then replied, "But do you have to look gay, I mean, hun, you could be so pretty."

I came out after hours of my mother baggering me about shaving my head. Gay okay, bald head, apparently a heart attack waiting to happen.

Chuckles. ~GoGO

Sunday, June 22, 2008

112/365 - 118/365: getting back on the horse

112/365 Dan
The Man, II. A quiet fellow, behind me typing away. Hockey player and guitar hero, he’s the weekend counterpart for the job. We always bust out when he finally speaks up.

113/365 Dr. Shaun
Who won’t let me forget he’s a doctor. Renegade psychologist, he strides in with his tongue loaded for chats. I can count on worthy advice and empathy for the wayward soul.

114/365 Monica
Fave nurse. We share our lives in 15 minute increments. There are few souls I know I have encountered in a past life that gives us such intimacy in this one.

115/365 Dan, The Man, I.
Blurry remembrance, stuck to the arteries, a clogged mess of time. They toasted his side gig in college; the one that leathered his face, robbed him of his hair and mind.

116/365 Gustavo
Vecino. A quiet sort, the last of the original crew that resided in my apartment complex, except for me. Always close to finishing that dissertation, he decided to move somewhere else.

117/365 M
Another neighbor friend, she makes me laugh. Reminds me to pace myself to my own experiences rather then social expectations, as she reminds herself. I am glad she moved next door.

118/365 C
A few doors down, she’s the fem in my life who appreciates a good bike ride to Golden Harvest and conversations over wine. I am totes sad that she moving away.

Friday, June 20, 2008

stranded: a communion with anger

At the most inappropriate time for dysfunction, the car breaks down again, wafting smoke from the steering wheel, I agree with the sentiment and light a cigarette. Blood pressure rising as panic creeps into the racing heart beat, I tell myself well at least its right outside my home as I stopped off to pick up a camera battery as I am using it for the job today.

My anger, a resident of this helpless feeling, isn’t ready to count my blessings, isn’t ready to look at the brighter side of this current dilemma. There are things I need to do, places I need to be…like work, and I don’t have time for another problem layered on top of problems cracking my patience these days. I kiss my fingers and touch the tattoo above my heart, a celtic circle representing the maden, mother and crone; promising my anger’s frustration that soon we can release. A bike ride later in the evening once I can get to my own time, but until then I go inside, grab some change, the IPod, and walk to the bus stop. Its one transfer and at least 45 minutes on the bus back to work where the work car resides and I’ll need music to loosen my heart rate to something manageable for the time being. Another late night working.

I imagine the quicken pace of riding the bike, letting anger pump the muscles, snuffing out this piercing alarm going off in my head with sweat. I hope to exhaust this overwhelming sense of drowning with movement. Ah, but I am not there yet. Not even close. Other’s crisis on the task list, homeless individuals to attend to – the irony is I am traveling on the bus to focus on another crisis, while my own sits unmovable in front of my home. Whatevs, I cackle a grizzled laugh in my mind, I can deal with anything.

I figure my neighbors will help me move the car to the back, off the streets where the police ticket the stranded vehicles. I figure with the next paycheck I can get the ignition fixed, knowing a side street mechanic who might take pity. I figure that I have the bus, bike, and a work vehicle to get me through the next week. I figure I can get through this as I count the blessings laid out before me to help me get through. I add to the list empathy & compassion, as my experience offers me the grace to understand how difficult life can get with the simplest of problems – no transportation – for the clients I work with.

Anger doesn’t want clarity, doesn’t want to count those damn blessings, so I hold my frustration and tell myself I prefer to count opportunity and not problems as my guide forward, promising once again, anger will have its place on the bike, pushing as hard as it wants to.

I text my lover, tell her my woos, I add this opportunity to the list. She text me back thoughts of me lingering between cell phones. Modern day communication, another blessing, another resource.

I am completely aware of myself. 31 years has taught me a happy life doesn’t reside in what we have – those materials purchased – or among placid days where no problems lie, but with the ability to feel competent when sh!t hits the fan.

Sigh. Still a new car would be nice or at least the chance to occlude this bleeder car of mine. Phht. Until then, at least I have my blessings.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

meet sam

This is my cat, Sam. Isn't she a cutie. I don't know when it happened, but I became one of them. You know, a cat person. Complete with photos and quirky little stories about how my cat likes to stalk me around the periphery of my apartment when I first come home and then pounce on my pant legs at the Kitchen door. I call this our Calvin and Hobbes time.

And check out her man paws, particularly the rear one there. No, she does not have six toes, trust me I keep counting. She is simply a big pawed kind of gyrl. Yeah, she's my kinda cat.

sick. I know.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Sketch: off beat while exposing the queen

Self-confidence tempered by doubt, my mind inflamed with wanting to check my balances. I find myself wanting to control again as though somehow I can circumvent the risk of vulnerability by playing life like a chess game. I want to see all possible moves, all possible defenses so as not to cause offense to this fragile sense of exposure. Who am I kidding, if there is one lesson unlearned that could just be learned already, it would be that you…I mean I must let go of the idea of control…at least the type of control I am looking for. And though doubt nestles the thoughts, a faint off beat in this cadence of assurance, I honestly think I wouldn’t, possibly couldn’t, change what I am feeling, wanting, and hoping for...

even if my queen is taken.

Friday, June 6, 2008

the uncomfortability in vanity

hot day, sticky and thick with humidity. my hair, a usual limp mop of brown on the head continuously cut to maintain some depth, folds with curl and volume today. condensation, a nicer term for sweat, on my forehead has brought a subtle shimmer and tone to my coffee brown hair. great hair day, except my eye lids hunker heavy with the thin layer of humidity that has collected on them and I feel like I am struggling to maintain my bright eyes open, I find myself peering through lechers eyes, worn and heavy. and all I want to do is shower. even if it means my fan tab hair day is done for.