Excerpts from the past year and a half (in no particular order)
The smoke haze that engulfed the city of Seattle was acknowledged by a few, ignored by most and causing spasms of mild coughing to the sensitive population of the city. I spent last night blowing my nose, coughing and feeling my chest compress. I woke up, looking a little wrecked and decided I needed A/C stat and to clear my mind/lungs.
My roommate continued to chain smoke cigarettes day/night despite the hazardous smoke warning for the entire area and sitting in the living room watching oodles of horror films. I was bordering miserable, as I tried to stay cool in the grey summer haze, and turned my fan in my room up to the highest setting as I laid on my white bed, naked and annoyed that I had to keep my window closed. I looked around my room. Degas prints, family memories and travel paraphernalia decorated my walls. Hoards of books sat on my window sill since I had about a five year reading block now. I had tackled Anna Karenina, got half way through, sat it down and now couldn't remember all that had happened in the story line and would have to now re-read it. The clear blue bin I had of new belongings for my new apartment I had planned with my ex, now just sat there and made me a tinge sad.
I noticed the slight sagging of my right eyelid and the light pigment of my lower lip from my stint in panama of not wearing any sunscreen. I tried not to reflect too much on all of my recent-past love life. It was sad and sort of humiliating and most importantly, humbling.
I felt satisfied with my studying of dance and the extreme effort I had put into learning and integrating it into my life. I felt that I had neglected my spirituality a bit, but I suppose that ebbs and flows most of the time unnoticed.
Boat Log- September 2018
The alcoholic expedition leader was giving a lecture on Lewis and Clark and I wondered if he was hung over. We didn’t make it to the museum this morning because of the high winds so I was waiting in the crew lounge with a black coffee and watching Love Actually for the millionth time in my life.
Seahab- what captain calls the boat for people who can’t get their shit together on land
“Photography is a lie”- from an onboard photographer about how any one can take pictures
The boring, basic predictability of the PNW in certain areas. EVERYONE lives in condos and boring loft apartments and EVERYONE has a dog. It should come as no surprise that everyone begins to look exactly the same. The men all have the same barber and the women all dress the same. There is zero individuality and a lot of money being tossed around like it is a never ending supply.
I love the smell of the mountain fresh air when I take out the recycling in the morning. It smells just like Alaska. And I like wandering around Target and just looking at things while watching other people do the same thing.
I remember the days of my youth, of post it notes and jelly shoes and everything about a crush on a boy was so exciting. That first sip of coffee (when you’ve never had coffee before), laying on the grass and wondering about God and life, and sleepovers were the best thing on the entire planet and so were caboodles.
My new job is nice. It’s so busy that I don’t quite think I ever knew a restaurant could be so busy. My coworkers are sweet. The head chef is a bit scary but I respect him for that. He never speaks to me but I’m okay with that. Everyone else helps me and we joke around every now and then but I just love working in Japanese food (which I never thought I would say) but I do love it.
I literally sprinted ten to fifteen blocks to try to make it to the bookstore before 17:00 and it was 16:44. I made it with two minutes to spare just in time to pick up a book which I could NOT stop thinking about how much i wanted to read it and couldn’t find it anywhere. I planned my exact route with a city girls expertise, where to cross the ped xings in the quickest spots, when to cross the automated crosswalk so I wouldn’t waste any time. And I made it, to the bookstore with two minutes to spare and walked out with a used copy of High Fedility on a Seattle winter night.
Downtown Seattle was startling dead on Thanksgiving. No one was even around, including homeless people and it was so serene and heaven like. They played classical music for me as I stopped in at the coffee shop before work and I thought that it was so sweet and I almost cried.
Watching Bridget Jones Diary, a quick (impromptu) meal thanksgiving prep with my roommate, a slice of Marion berry pie and one hit of a joint to help with my anxiety (didn’t think i would ever have to smoke as an alternative solution) and in my bed by 20:45 feeling happy.
I didn’t want my mother to ever not be here on earth. And I don’t know if it’s because it’s the closest thing we’ll ever feel on earth to God’s love for us? Or if I will just miss her calling me to ask if i need new boots for the winter, or coffee money, or sending me care package of food and mom stuff.
Week two of salsa. The steps are more intricate. I must practice in my own time I think to myself. The same guy from last week slams my hand down when I don't drop it right on "three" (just FYI for all of you out there in beginner salsa, you NEVER touch the lady like THAT) appalled I fake smiled for the rest of the ten seconds I had to dance the combination with him. The other guys in class range from super beginning to intermediate. They are mostly awkward IT nerds, but I'll hand it to the one guy in my class. There is a rather buff man that can MOVE HIS HIPS, and I always get a bit red in the face when dancing with him. I said it once, and I'll say it a million times "You NEVER know who has the rhythm within." Also must work on sassy booty rolls in the privacy of my apartment. My one beneficial correction this week, (from said intermediate student) was to drop the weight in my arms so they are "heavy" and when doing back breaks, to let them push off your hand by pushing back. He said you will feel them want to do a back break by the subtle windup (if that makes any sense).
If you were to tell me I would be 34 years old in a musical theatre class last year (or any year as a matter of fact) I would have told you that YOU are out of your minnnnnd.
But here I was, standing in front of a mirror in my black leotard and tights, trying to embody a “bullied” character as we practiced a pas de bourrue to The Greatest Showman soundtrack. I also was trying not to laugh.
Groceries or the Symphony? Which one will feed my soul more? My knee is throbbing from overtaxing it in ballet and massage.
A little mascara. A little nude lipstick. The prestigious spendy ballet school smells like dirty socks always. There are NO children here today which means solace!
Listening to hip hop before class in my emerald green fur jacket makes me feel a bit less uptight the everyone here.
I was nearly the curviest girl in ballet and it was so freaking advanced and I almost had a nervous breakdown but I kept going and I wanted to die on this inside. Will I ever not be the WORST in class at this highly regarded ballet school?!
I haven’t done frappe, battement (double battement) Ron de jamb arms all in soooooo longggggggggg and petite allegro. Maybe like 5 years?
A book of Neruda poems
My slate painted grey toenails
Peek out of the bath water