020114 Look. I don't start the eggs until I flip the bacon, you understand what I'm saying? If you spend all your time deciding whether to use plain text, rich text, Pages, Word, some obscure editor, Markdown, how to set your settings, whether to leave them at default or not, line spacing, which font—come on. It’s not going to matter whether you use BBedit or Happy Esmerelda’s Professional Perfumey Special Writing Spot Program. The potential for distraction is just as great in a “distraction-free environment” as it is anywhere else. And don’t bother trying to rationalize it by talking about cross-platform interoperability or some damn shit like that. All you’re doing is memorizing the names and product numbers of all the Lego kits. It is possible, conceivable, not likely, that you might someday meet someone at a “party,” not that anybody has those anymore, nobody that you know anyway, that might find your specious arcana interesting. But it still doesn’t matter. If you’re thinking about the exoskeleton to the exclusion of the guts, you are not the most valuable member of the crew of the organic insect spaceship thingy. If all you ever think about is the guts, though, you’re just as lame. Look. Here’s the thing. You don’t have to be this weird father-mother-god-genius-lightning-struck-inventor guy. You don’t have to create Frankenstein. The organism you’ve been courting is already alive! You need to talk to it, and listen to it, not create it. Come on down into the mud offa your grandiose soap box. Dude. Okay, I take it a little bit back. There is one possible exception to the hard, repeateadly relearned “no reason to install alternative operating systems on your Mac” rule. It’s this: it can remind you how great, despite all the bullshit like iTunes and whatever else, the Mac OS still is, in comparison. So text is text, links are links, the computer is one of many computers that are linked together but somehow still strangely stupid weak and slow. Pages is about pages. “Typewriter scrolling” is a thing. Software is a virus. There’s no such thing as software that’s not a virus. It has infected your brain. Yes, yours. Believe it. And then get over it and get on with the communication. That’s what you need. That’s what’s going to make you feel more like a man. So what about the cuboid? I know, I know, you busted it up because the variant of the virus that it had become had become too hungry. It was turning you into a—well, it was making you look bad, let’s put it that way. Making you mistake your own poop for something worthy of public praise. But what about the idea that supposedly started out the whole, long investigation that it was yet another attempt to continue? The idea of the textual playground, the holodeck, the multi-dimensional database of poetic possibility? Yes, I’m still interested in that. But I think that chasing it with a hammer is less conducive than sitting back sexily in my ashram, legs folded under me to the side, thighs white and plump, smoking a hookah and listening to the distant rainclouds. I guess we’ll see. The thing that sticks (through all this talk) is the thing that comes up when I read about writers. What do you do? “I write fiction.” “I’m writing a short story.” “This software helps you write screenplays.” Okay, but those are all things. Objects. Established things that forty billion people are doing. Like pictures on the Internet, the value of each specific example approaches zero. Why is this not good enough for me? Is it just another tricky tickle of my avoidance bug? Or is just writing stories not what I want to do? I mean, it isn’t, but then why do I keep coming back to the writing thing at all? What is the juxtaposition here? I don’t want to be one of the scribblers in the coffeehouses. I don’t want to be pointless. At least—I don’t think I do. So. But the business of Becoming A Published Author® leaves me a little cold, as well. I like the becoming part. But where does that leave the object? Writing “for myself” is good, and you can take quite a bit of it before it gets unhealthy. But you can’t drink green tea for a living, either. Ach. One step a day. What was the #steptoday? Um, there really wasn’t one. I spent most of it soothing Libby’s fever, cooking and doing dishes, drinking a bit too much coffee, repairing the damage from my recent foray into Windows, reading articles, shopping, and taking surveys toward my supposed gift card I’m going to get. Although the guy from LGBT center did leave me a message about my volunteering inquiry there, so I guess I kind of got a freebie today. It’s a lot about allocation of energy. If you get to the end of the day and you can’t immediately place why you feel edgy, rushed, irritable—hastily getting the girls to bed, impatient with their imperfections—it’s because you poured your energy into places that didn’t feed your life in the most nutritional ways. Avoiding yourself and avoiding your kids are two symptoms of the same infection. Why have we been playing video games so much, abusing bedtime so much, watching TV? Partly because it’s winter, but partly because it’s easier. Easier to tune out the howl of the unknown future. Right now I’m not going to bed yet because I feel as though there’s something I should be doing or have done, but there’s a big heavy boulder in the way of stopping this twilight nothingness and going about doing the thing, or finding out or straight up admitting to myself what the thing is. So it’s this tumid, stagnant vortex: pushed away from going to bed by the unfinished business, pushed away from the business by the fear or discomfort, pushed away from the computer by the feeling of the energy suck, pushed away from getting off the computer by avoidance of feeling the unfinished business.... So I stay on here doing basically nothing, but not even a good kind of nothing, as if I could trick my mind into thinking I was doing something so it won’t have to face the nothing that’s waiting for me if I stop doing this nothing. What about just going to sleep? How could I do that? I haven’t earned a good night’s sleep today. So I stay on here so I don’t have to face that gnawing guilt. Got to head this off at the pass, jump on it earlier in the day so I don’t get in this hole in the first place. Best way to keep warm is not to get cold.... And then there’s the whole weird thing about writing Ann’s letters. How she asked why I haven’t. Pointed to the MSA. “I want to open a line of communication.” And it’s just so fucking weird because I really want to, too. And don’t want to, and don’t want to want to. And so on. Vortices.... Smoke.... curling.... up, around, away.... But it has to go somewhere. And Libby can’t sleep cause of her fever and sore throat and she keeps coming down here being pathetic and I feel like a heel for failing to have the power to make her instantly better. I may not be as wonderful a nurturer in practice as I am in theory. But I’m trying. Can’t give her any more analgesics right now. Gave her crushed ice this time. At least that was something to try. Next time if I could do it without the impatient whining. Why am I doing this? What am I practicing here? Oh god, here we go into the spiral of self-antagonizing. It’s a kite built of cards. A dull, quiet madness. Begins to form, again, like a lattice of insidious crystals, silent, in the night, pure and deadly. Well, at least I can finish my taxes tomorrow. Oh yeah, one more thing before I forget. Damnedest thing happened on the Jobulator earlier today. While I was still sleepy. You know I had resolved not to take any more jobs at that Academy of Science—because, of course, because it was too far of a drive into Milwaukee you know, not worth it and all that. But we know the real reason. Anyway, so a two-day job popped up for that Neiderhoff lady whose room I spent some time in last week. And... my finger just moved slowly, almost against my rational wishes, over to the ACCEPT button, and... tapped it. While I sat there kind of gaping. And I didn't cancel it. I want to go there. Isn't that weird? Let's don't just leave it at that though. Let's put some thought and possibly some action into why that is, what this is saying to me, about me, about my environment and what's going to happen next. Cause so often I leave those things at the "hm" level, like an idle bird watcher making a mark in a book for no reason. I'd like to start sending my data in to the big lab, contribute something with these hours spent on the cedar ridge, watching, waiting, sweating it out, listening hard for that one unexpected, unique, inimitable call. What manner of bird is this, and what does his presence here portend? 020214 #steptoday Can’t check in tonight. Reading about cameras. Micro 4/3 is going to be the magic bullet that makes my life magical and complete, at a surprisingly affordable price! 020314 "Instant" analysis. Amalgamated experience leads to relaxed confidence in widening circle of related situations. Creates opportunities that dissipate fast if left unattended. Step up and act interested if you are, otherwise move along somewhere else. Don't kill yourself by sticking around and being a half-visible nobody. Teh-dsa getting wider also, approaching universal. Not my chumpy primitive scribblings, not my personal notes. That's why when P asked “ever thought about selling that” it didn't make sense. Truly, nobody cares. Value of each specific image approaches zero. *The Internet already exists.* Being superior about markdown is for hipsters. But the bigger thing, I'm still thinking, is lines of communication with the bigger thing. Don't make a deck of cards and then draw one when you want to play like you're sailing a question. Rather *draw* one, out of the bigger thing that you don't have to try & fail to encompass, greedy fat old bastard. Draw one, conjure one up wherever you are, because *it* will be there too. Get quiet (or loud) enough to hear it, listen for it, let it come out and come on and come in. If you can practice this, you have a chance at real magic. No insular legless Frankenstein monstrosities required. No precious "my writing" required. I knew my computer wasn't teh-dsa 13 years ago. I just forgot again, for a little while, because gadgets make me feel better about myself for a little while. #steptoday I called dude back about the volunteering at LGBT. This is significant and interesting in many ways. While cleaning up after supper and moving into bedtime procedures, I had a thought: Look at and break down your January spending notes, and then you can do whatever else you want with the rest of your evening. In a flash, I made one of those little deals with myself. Then after the stress of bedtime, I came plodding down the stairs, and it almost seemed like I really wasn’t going to do it. You know the way it happens: suddenly the task seems heavy, boring, burdensome, like it’s going to drive away all joy, like the immediate pleasure of the thing you’d rather do (read about cameras on the Internet) is going to be blasted away and lost forever if you succumb to sinking into this mundane pit of work. And why is it work? I can make documents and read notes like a sonofabitch if it’s about, say cameras. Diff? I was afraid of the awareness of the financial information contained in the task I had set myself. So, even before getting to the actually relatively simple, and truly not even all that unenjoyable task, I was already mood-repairing based on the discomfort that the responsible, sensible, voluntary self-awareness threatened to bring with it. Then for whatever reason, I just said to myself, almost as a trivial thought-experiment, what if you started keeping these little deals with yourself? And I did. I did my little thing. And it was kind of informative and interesting, but more importantly, it gave me a boost of self-affirmation and self-trust. Just like not smoking a cigarette, I can make a momentary decision to just keep the little deal. One thing. It really is just the one thing at a time. Each time, the one thing is the only thing you have to worry about. 020414 Today was another day of hanging out with Carmen at Learning Center West. Perhaps I should try to do some things that are more impressive when I have that gig. Don’t know. I called the parent and did the computer thing. I do less acting like I’m dumb and don’t know how to do stuff than I used to. Was there a #steptoday? Hmm, not sure, but one thing that was really nice was while Meg & Mil were at OM, I sat and tingled on the couch, listening abstractly to Lib & Cel painting and talking in the other room. It was time off the computer, not being busy. Soon: writing her another letter. Soon: drawing “cards” for/from teh-dsa. Right now: make a secret me-only batch of snow ice cream and watch some Hulu. 020514 #steptoday Went to sign up for volunteering both at LGBT and COA. Felt a little odd. Mix of job-interview feeling and casual no-risk feeling. Mix of awkward and confident. Mix of welcomed and suspect. We’ll see. Good steps toward career path? As dude said, “It’s what you make of it. Get engaged.” Regarding the camera haze my weirdened brain has been in the last few days, yeah, I did it again. Not as bad as the classic Mac fiasco that soaked me for a couple hundred dollars out in SD, because at least I should get some use out of this. But hours after I ordered the Pen, I’m already thinking, “I should have just bought the DSLR,” and realizing that my “cheap” alternative is shaping up to be at least as much and probably more money than the DSLR would have been. As I add options to make it more like a DSLR. Except it’s still small and cool looking and “different,” now, remember that. So yeah, once again, I totally lost (well not totally) my mind for a while. And in these situations there is never a correct solution or final decision, other than just stop altogether and buy nothing! So yeah, I failed to do that. This time. Again. Just like the original iBook. And too many other goddamned things I could mention. Up until this afternoon, I could keep saying, “But I haven’t bought it yet.” As soon as I saw the eBay deal though, it was all over. There are so many powerful cues on there to make a sucker like me feel like I have to hurry. That’s why it works, I guess. I guess I could still return it. Ugh. Sick. Disappointed. Made some gains today, but oh my god, the spending, the spending has to stop. It’s just not fair. It’s just sick. Yeah. Just checked. I’m spending exactly the same amount of money on this cutesy, piddly, fiddly fad camera that I would have if I’d gone with the 3200 and a prime. It’s smaller and lighter though. OTOH, I did at some point during this tortured session admit to myself that I didn’t want an DLSR, just because I wanted to try something different. I suppose I could be okay with that, and not torture myself about it any more. The money thing, I mean the purchase at all, that I don’t know. I mean I know you do have to allow yourself an entertainment budget, or else you’ll just end up spending it in other sneakier less controlled ways. So now I don’t eat out for the rest of the year. Can I do it? Can I actually cut back somewhere? Well I guess I have to if I want to, you know, pay the rent and stuff. And like KR and others have pointed out, the search for the single perfect toy (or even tool) is futile. It would be like deciding which printing press to buy. AB Dick versus a room-sized Heidelberg. You can’t really say that one is “better” than the other. They’re both beautiful and awesome. Just like all cameras today. So the game is in learning and understanding the mechanics (and soul) of the machine that is in front of you, and doing good stuff with it. Okay? Geez. I do just have to attempt to exorcise this one last bugbear before I try the might mighty act of going to sleep, fucking finally: Keep hearing the echo of that girl that drew that webcomic about her debilitating depression and its mysterious dissipation. How when she was a child, her dad “spent thousands on expensive hobbies” while neglecting their basic needs. Yeah. Goodnight. You’ve been saying “it’s going to stop, after this one last purchase, this is the last thing I’m going to buy” literally for over twenty years. 020614 LDMS, hallway. Saw Mark N— going into the library, deliberately looked straight ahead to avoid having to say hi. Just as I was almost gone, without even really looking or stopping he said, “Hi Matt.” I feigned surprise, as if I hadn’t seen him there, said, “Oh, hi!” with too much surprise in voice, then walked on down the hall, knowing he had seen right through my fakeness, wondering if people look at me and see this weird worm that must be hiding something because he doesn’t even know how to just say hi like a normal person. #steptoday attempted to be okay with that, instead of in rampant unawareness letting the self-hate run wild and destructive really got into the geometry lesson in the 5th grade classes checked some of my silly/jokey impulses while in teacher role; not all of them, still had fun, but experimented with being aware of when it’s better to just refrain. Like I expect Millie to know how to do, and I’m just learning it. Noticed that, will try to remember that when trying to correct her. 020714 #steptoday there weren’t any. Ok so I didn’t gawk and maunder too much in a “professional” setting. Got through the day at a high school as a nonentity. Tracy dropped off the cookies and I didn’t offer to pay for them and I could sense that she was waiting for me to do so but was too gracious to say something. Nice, but how humiliating to be in a position to have to negotiate these kind of shame-fueled excursions. He said as he fondled his shiny new camera. Micro four thirds is Jackass for “I’m a fucking Jackass.” Somehow I don’t think that these non-steps were what Blackie had in mind when he said take some steps. This is barely standing up, let alone walking. Poop your diaper much, fucktard? still haven’t worked on the letter 020814 #steptoday Nope. Still in idiotic camera land. Somebody fucking help me. 020914 #steptoday Nope. Had some coffee, we got some laundry done, a whole lot of energy went into the suck of hanging out with mueller/hackbarth. Got a little organized. Just so tired. Yet not. Sex/sexuality seems like a sinking pit of inevitable despair, frustration, perversion, and futility. Cael’s kitchen. I still catch glimpses of it. And then it wisps away like dandelion puffs. 021004 Okay, so teh-dsa already is an animal. After years of trying to stuff it in my mason jar, I'm experimenting with communicating with it on a voluntary, wild, free basis. Actually listening. Relinquishing the need to be the wonder-man who created the animal. Because I didn't. I can conceivably create something, but creation, at least on a human scale, comes out of two things: necessity, and interaction with another (pre-existing) organism. You don't, in other words, as those wise old effeminate scolds of hifalutin rock-and-roll already told me before, get something for nothing. Okay fine. Necessity calls me to the forest. I become part of the forest instead of having to contain the whole forest. I don't have to be god. But I still want some kind of record keeping. Some kind of, as that one girl said, commemoration of my ongoing interaction with the other organism. As a human, as a humble artist, my ongoing record could be considered to be a fossil trace of a kind of creation. Human creation is ephemeral; human art is record-keeping, is observation in a spiritual but also a literal sense. So for now, I'm thinking I like the utilitarian form this journal has taken lately with the steps, so I think I'll add some kind of teh-dsa notes. Also I like how the morning is vulnerable and vital (and scary), so I think I'll jump on that for a while, and see what happens. So the journal entry, the checking in, will comprise at minimum: "Today's steps" in the evening, and "Today's teh-dsa" in the morning. Could possibly consider renaming them, or standardizing on a name or format to make future search/review easier, but whatever. The thing is, teh-dsa doesn't just have to be a certain kind of file in a certain kind of directory structure. Certain kind of script. Certain kind of mumbo-jumbo. That's the whole fucking thing about it. All that stuff was quasi-religious entrapment. Me being cute and foolish. It's okay. I'm okay with that having happened. And now I'm ready to approach it a different way. Reframe it. That's a perilous thing about ritual; it's so easy to let the sign take over the significance. The ritual becomes another iphone or camera or bottle or whore. It's okay. That's all part of it. And there are other parts. Other worlds. Set your unbound organism free. Unleash, unchain. Ride it. It's waiting. So.... #thismorning The fog lifted on an anxious landscape. The pilot was standing, hand on head, looking at a smouldering heap. The mentor clambored out of the wreckage. They needed each other. Even after the plane hits the ground, if you survive, there are still steps you can take. Things you can try. This is the nature of what you are. You are an organism; you strive. They looked at each other. The air between them, acrid, hot, shimmered with death and possibility. The ground was cracked, the morning strangely sacred, quiet. They knew they must reconnect with the others, the "world," or they would disappear. Where to start? You know, on those days when the "step" basically returns "there wasn't one", it may be helpful to stay in the habit of recording what you feel like you spent your energy on instead. However, a string of those days should probably be triggering something. Hmm.... Do I want to put the "this mornings" in a separate--or is that just the bullshit engine starting up again? Hmm.... Just absolutely ridiculous behavior in the staff "workroom". It's just me sitting in here when these two old birds come in. I was already sitting here. Right out in the open. Just eating my lunch. Obviously. They have spent the last half hour... whispering. Seriously. Get a room. Every now and then they break into regular voice, like people rudely being exclusive by speaking a foreign language presumably not known to others in the room will let slip a local phrase now and then. So sorry to inconvenience you, ladies. Since you have absolutely no other time and place for confidential confabulation besides right now, standing by that copier. Peg texts: sick, no sesh tonight. My "the depressed person" persona thinks she just doesn't want to deal with seeing me after that bloated marathon last week. #steptoday called dude from COA GED program back, even though he was already gone for the day had some Cael’s Kitchen time with the girls after supper (kick-ass meatloaf, by the way, Megan said she liked it and Millie said the potatoes were good)—coloring, taking some photos, hanging out 021114 #thismorning furtive picnic; ever closer to the castle grounds; historic inn site; sinister crack to the festive banners in the wind; punctuated raucousness; something’s not said; even the dirt seems a little bit dirty; is what’s being eaten here worth the psychic and human risk? the penalty may be death, or worse; caught in an equilibrium of days; Gundegoot don’t run this show no more; it’s said he went a little crazy and now spends all his time doing nothing much at all.... #steptoday I worked really hard at Saratoga STEM. And I didn’t whinge and mince when I said I was leaving at 2:30 instead of 3:00. Offered to stay if there was anything else, yes, but not in a cowtow mode. And I’m exhausted Good talk with Megan about menstruation and practicing the sax. Little good talks with the others too. Sometimes being exhausted helps. Like you go down thru the tiny hole that is the scope of your world in February, and on the other side there’s a court with tiny white lights and a frozen fountain, ice skaters, warm coffee for anyone who wants or needs it. 021214 #thismorning The illusory house is juxtaposed with the real house. Awoke to a curious feeling of coziness (bothy), wrapped in a familiar ominous vulnerability (hellsmarker?). #steptoday called dude back and set up time to start at COA now I could work on the LGBT adult ally questionnaire, or write Ann’s letter (odd how I hesitate even to type her name, but always putting something like "her" just seems even weirder), but I don’t feel like it, so I think I’ll compromise. I’ll do ONE draft of ONE question from the thing. Also type up the rest of the questions in an iCloud doc so I can work on them from anywhere. Deal. 021314 #thismorning The old man’s fingers are as gnarled as the sticks that make up his hut by the sea. The floor is made of sand. The young people stop in to see him, and he admires their green bathing suits, their plump skin with droplets of salt water shimmering like mist on fruit. They smile, laugh, listen, forget. Pain is inevitable but mercifully slow. The young people bring him carnitas and taffy apples from the boulevard. Occasionally, he smokes, even though he’s clearly not supposed to. At his age. In his condition. One hurricane would wipe this place smooth, nothing left but swirls in the sand. It’s Tuesday morning. Or is it Thursday? A small wiry dog is nipping at the advancing line of the surf, and chasing it back into the sea when it retreats. #steptoday seems like very small ones, but not nothing. Chipped away at Ally application & a tiny bit the letter. Helped girls with school stuff, took care of bills business. Kind of a maintenance day. thought about “forgetting” to call the parents at Learning Center West, changed my mind and stepped up and just did it. 021414 #thismorning When did I become female? Seems like not that long ago, and also forever. Someone, my daughter’s friend? has given me pigtails with tight braids and tiny pink ribbons to hold them together at the bottom. I look and feel full and good. There is a trace of potential embarrassment left over from when I was as caught up and petty as the illusory, gender-bifurcated world. Now, today, however, I have more important things to do—there has been a gradual (yet at times strangely sudden) falling away, slipping away of the need to pose, of posturing, of false maleness in a dangerous world. The danger is still real. I have learned new moves that are older than I am. Vulnerability, I hold it in my cupped hands, is a fragrant blossom, is a quiet, drawn-out explosion, a star of great strength. Here's the thing: it wasn't just about gender. It was about caring. Self-care, and caring for others, and being able to receive care with comfort and grace. 021614 #thismorning What if we were bound together not by god but by freedom? Then would you want to be a teacher? What if you had the freedom to act like yourself? What if you had the energy to make your own rules? What if prolonged exposure to love made you stronger than your habitual fear? What if it was all about the kids, not about pleasing the adults in the room--or not in the room? What if you had the freedom to act like yourself? *I had a key. I could let people, even myself, in, even late at night, under the orange glow of the __________ lights. In a sense we were all strangers, but there was a sense of belonging that trumped our imperfections and discomfort. There was a reason, quiet, inarticulate perhaps, to keep playing, a current that ran deeper than the surface ripples of our lives, mistakes, and prevous inhibitions. I don't know how to explain it. After years of holding back, of identifying with failure, I was just different. All the little bits and pieces I had learned while failing came together now, and I was a whole person, and I was playing the game with good humor, I was kind of a dork, and I was confident.* What if you don’t turn all this into a false poem of revelation, but instead continue to drive the ship into the wind and spray of discomfort, and continue to begin to surprise yourself? When Jared offered you his cookies, you didn’t say high & cool, “Hey, thanks!”, you said, touched and puppy, “Awwww, thanks!”, not because you knew he was gay (although you had assumed, perhaps erroneously), but because in this space you knew it was okay. Practicing being yourself, because you’re in (and helping to build!) a space that allows, helps, encourages you to do so. Making that space bigger. Taking it outside. 021714 #thismorning OH MY GOD I’M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO PAY OFF MY CAR I’M GOING TO HAVE TO WORK AROUND THE FUCKING CLOCK AT SHITTY JOBS AND SHITTY HOURS THIS SUMMER AND THE KIDS WILL BE ALL GRUBBY AND NEGLECTED AND SITTING HERE BY THEMSELVES AND I’LL PROBABLY GET IN TROUBLE OR SOMETHING TERRIBLE WILL HAPPEN AND I’LL BE WEIGHED DOWN BY THE POISONING FATIGUE OF THE STINK OF FAILURE EVERY DAY AS I DRAG MYSELF OFF TO YET ANOTHER HORRIBLE POINTLESS MENIAL JOB BECAUSE I’M SUCH A WORTHLESS LOSER. Or, maybe I could take some steps towards doing something else. #steptoday worked on refining a few of the pages of tnuwwon (which is pretty meta, cuz tnuwwon is basically a document about stuff to work on, so, yeah....) left Doc Staggenborg a note instead of not leaving him a note (I know, I’m scraping up crumbs here). Where did energy go instead? New phone plan (Republic Wireless; taking a nasty cut on price of phones over the last year, but if it works out it will pay off) long but good convo with Megan after she and Millie had another nasty catfight Am feeling like this is as usual all good ideas and everythings set up and ready to roll, and then... and then... and then... *Sigh* just doesn’t cut it. Tomorrow, PLEASE, Mat, please just at least pick ONE real hard (I mean concrete and significant) step and DO it. Seeing Staggenborg got me wondering. Why do I undervalue myself? Why is excellence such a big problem? "I like the activity of teaching," he said. He'd rather do something than nothing. He wouldn't be able to handle bring a sub. Denise Christy is a belly dancer now. "I've learned a lot of things, and I'd like to have opportunities to use them," he said. He's dorky, goofy, effeminate, even a slight shine of spittle when he works his jaw. He's old, for chrissake. But he's got a non-arrogant confidence that I sometimes feel like I would kill for. Where's mine? The fuck happened? Why do I turn inward and refuse to just talk to people, let alone shine? Genius? Hell, let's try talking and walking and being human. Special Ed, indeed. 021814 But I’m vulnerable now! Oh wait, I was vulnerable then, too. I just didn’t know it. Permission to ride a scooter and sing and listen to sexy music and be who it’s about? Granted. Permission to get scared cuz I see flashing lights, and think Oh Shite, because I don’t have a license and I’m drunk and I don’t even have my keys? Welllll, granted, but—stop. You do have your license. Get down on your knees while the cop stops, your heart rises up in your throat as they say, rummage through your little trunk on the back of the scooter to look nonchalant, but wait, he’s going over by the door to that pub instead, it wasn’t even you he was following. While he’s talking to some lady over there, realize you do have your keys. You’re actually not drunk. You have as much right to be here as anyone. You don’t have to worry about disappointing your dad and everyone. And if you were in Paris. If you were in Paris…? I would sing, Ooh la la, la la la la la...! #steptoday - not really. Got lib signed up for swim. Had a couple of good interactions with some kids at South. A lot of times I find I like the black kids better. Why? Sharper wit, more interesting cultural contrast, more direct, more sassy-cynical-something, less entitled, less predictably family-guy-south-park-conservative-carefully-detached. More ingenuous. Vulnerable. - what did I spend my energy on instead? Being a damn sub, half existing, perching on the cusp of reality, pecking at the phone, wondering when I'm going to grow up and if I will be poor and miserable first. 021914 #steptoday I applied for an instructional aide job at Genessee lake school, that has programs for “children, adolescents, and young adults with developmental disabilities, mental health disorders, neurological disorders, and emotional disturbances.” And I feel pretty good about that. 022014 #thismorning hornylonely. too early for the doom to have sunk in yet. going to take a shower. skin, keep seeing thighs above tall boots women walking in the parking lot. a certain number of lines on her feet, makes her powerful like a mom, but not one of these fatfaced bloated cows that live all around me. More like, more like, poison. I still crave to be killed by that sweetness. Yes, I applied for a job last night, wow, yer a god, but maybe it's time to find some other way to reward yourself besides sitting watching pimplevision and packing on the bitchtits? Something a little um healthier maybe? #steptoday - had reasonable conversation with Albrecht et al at Project Success - called back lady from Genessee School & left a message - rest of energy went into setting up new phone. duhhh 022114 #thismorning a cobblestone street, high hump above the turgid river glistening streetlit dew i believe i walked here with you what was under the surface of the water then? what's down there now? sticks, mud, battlefish, gar, memories, the moon, a rusted-out old car #steptoday - asked Carmen if ok to use as reference - called back GLS lady and set up pre-screen - talked to jackie ("free therapy") - rest of energy went to obsessing about moto x battery life 022214 #steptoday - The problem is looking for zen masters and Jedi knights when there's ordinary ugly people right around you all the time thrilling you with the ordinary advice you need to hear right now. You didn't listen because he wasn't like your mentor or a genius or dinner or some dam thing. But now you're thinking back and listening. Because like red delicious apples or celery or 88¢ wheat bread he had something you could use. It's right there. Pick it up and take it home to your kids. How weird it was sitting at the dront fesk at LGBT, manning it up and watching TV with Jared. What a damn waste. And yet, maybe not. I was still there, and I was at least thinking about all this. We'll see what happens. And there was a steady flow of freaks in and out the hallway. That's always a good thing. 022314 People who you think you want to be who have it all figured out are actually not very interesting from at least my artistic social psychological perspective. Like that guy last night. The important guy who stood tall in his fine beige suit and popped the cherry of the elevator button with such aplomb. I will never be him. And, okay. I know now (mostly) that I don't have to be. Don't have to fake it. Which is a relief because I never quite got good at faking it and I ain't bout to suddenly get good now. He can be that guy. He's doing a fine job. Far be it from me I applaud him. would even suck his duck for him if the occasion so to speak arose. Only thank God I don't have to be him. Anymore. To carve the head of a king into a massive bank of stone, you blast away everything that doesn't *look like* a king. #steptoday - Took a walk with the girls all around Wehr, over the frozen lake, explored down below the waterfall. Stayed pretty patient and attentive all day - listened to them talk about Minecraft. It really is a remarkable platform. As much of a game-changer, at least for a certain subset (of which I'm proud my girls are a part) as Facebook or any of that other crap. Figured out how to set up the server so they could join on the computers without buying another account. So there. - Yeah, I get it that's not job stuff. But it's good, healthy stuff. So it's related. And it counts. At least a little. And tomorrow—going to COA. 022414 #steptoday - Why you lookin at me and smilin? I like you. You my nigga now. Wait, you not a nigga. You my favorite cracker. Haha, not racist! I'm not racist, no way....! 022514 #thismorning In the morning, a leviathan, you rise, shedding a great wave of old grief, losses & changes the depth of which you can't begin to articulate. The closest you can come is the barnacles of your own little life, tidbits you can remember, minnows of regret. Capoeira. Wayne. Piano. Father-daughter dances. Driving & grinning, skinny, invulnerable, in love. School. Your chance to vote for person of the year. What has happened? Not working today. But you are doing some work stuff. Can't make an omelet without, well you know. The grief pools around you as you sleep and your skin has warmed it where it's close to you. You don't realize until you stir, and stir it around, how chilled it had become. #steptoday I fucking aced a phone interview for an aide-level job making less than I make as a fucking substitute teacher. Way to aim low, there, bud. And yet, it would be good experience in a field I'm interested in. Well, yeah whatever. We'll see. It's worth waiting, thinking, and getting it right. I'm not some dumb kid anymore, you know? I can be honest, say what I need, and if it's not them who can give it to me, I can take my services elsewhere. I do have a lot to offer, and I have learned that. I am refining how to tell & show people that, and that is a good thing. I can be myself, and talk to adults & not freak out and assume I'm inferior. I can talk to people on equal footing now, because I am learning who I am and that is a good thing. 022614 #thismorning Probably won't take that job. Probably should go to the interview anyway. I have at least one good question for them, and I will probably learn something and get some good interview practice. In the meantime, - every dollar is a piece of my future - every minute could be spent on something else - every day, between the miracle of conception and the miracle of death, is just another miracle. Don't panic. #steptoday - Called back the GLS lady even though I didn't feel like it - Got my ass handed to me by a double classful of horrible but strangely entertaining and sweet 5th-graders. Oh my god. Humbleness, returned. Utter failure to manage class. And yet it didn't get truly dangerously out of hand. I talked Hunter down. And defused enough of the others to get through it. Could have been worse. Used to be. - Megan's polar bear stowed away in her saxophone case because it wanted to go to school with her. Watched a bunch of New Girl episodes, now I'm more sad than ever. I will never see the light side of 30 again. and here they did it up in a cutesy show that's so nicely done you can't stop looking at it. and mine was a hundred times more stupid and boring than theirs, day in and day out, and theirs is nothing compared to mine. And I'm sad and scared and mystified and down on myself, and it's like everywhere you look you can pay just a little too much (like it used to be affordable but a little too much for weed, or booze, or tobacco, or marriage) for a slick illusion. they got it all figured out. just push the button and slide the door shut on the suicide booth. go to dreamland, baby. it's all made in china. everybody's is the same so there's no jealousy. it's paradise. it's heaven on earth. and now you're more sad and weak and scared than ever. none of this internet shit is post-TV. it's all just turning back into even more TV. 022714 Your parents are not your therapist. There's a lot of comfortable, technical, "good" writing on the Internet, because so much of what seems most visible and loud on the Internet comes couched in a certain set of lifestyle, income, and/or worldview assumptions. Despite the neon digital clamor of porn and seedy advertisement, it's not a very really dirty place. Would you like a warm-up there, hon? #treefrog to a certain extent we teach kids stuff that's already obvious or even thoroughly internalized for them. like how the economy and workforce is different now than when we were on high school. we elucidate our fears of the change that they're already front and center in. Bought a six-pack of budweiser "so I could make brats properly." Used one. Drank one. Now the girls are scrap-booking a lot and arguing a little and day's end approacheth, and I'm ready to tuck them all in warm and safe and now Van is on the stereo, the one, you know the one from 94, and I'm like damn. Sure would like to just drink and listen and drink and listen like the old days. But of course, it wouldn't be like the old days anyway. So. Will do some variation on that I guess. Maybe it's time to write her damn letter? NO guru, no method, no teacher.... #steptoday - called back GLS lady, set up interview, am background processing how I want to approach the job prospect - talked to Chicks & the other lady at LDMS instead of ducking my head and sneaking past their doors. Chicks said there's going to be some openings. I added "get back on WECAN" to my reminders 022814 #treefrog again, they're teaching "if it's on the internet, it's not private." what they need to emphasize is why you should care. that's the part, if any, that the kids might not already know. #money Besides bills: HOUSEHOLD 239 GAS 195 EATOUT 99 FOODOVERCARD 306 SCHOOL/GS/Y 297 APPS/BOOKS 60 GIFTS 22 ALC 6 * CAMERA 851 *