All Things Profane and Sacred

Today was so bad it had an almost hallucinatory quality. I'm still waiting for the pirate monkeys to come chattering out of the woodwork. Long, long, long.

I'm not dead yet. Just . . .Procrastinating. And tossing and sorting and packing and tearing bits of memorabilia out of my shakey hands. So I'm good.

I know, I'm a bit of a packrat. I may not have a maze of newspapers and receipts and etc stacked up around the house, but I do have way too much shit that I don't need, but feel vaguely guilty throwing away.

I am emerging from my jelly-like cocoon of aloe vera to flop around in the outside world. Things to do and all that. That's right: Take charge of your life, pull yourself together. Fill in the blanks. Color inside the lines. Pay the bills. Juggle the books. No-wait, don't do that. Straight and narrow is the way.

Fuck this maturity bullshit. I want vodka.

Yesterday was quite the porch sitting day. Yessir! Let there be song and drink and a darkly enchanting read about-what else!-Watergate. Because I've been being responsible lately, I even put on sunblock before going out. Unfortuneately, I got burned to a crisp.

You see, my legs don't change color. At all. They don't even pinken on the hottest summer day. So I don't waste my time putting sunblock on them. I don't know if it's part of the aging process, or maybe pollution is responsible, but I now have a big burned streak down each of my legs.

I also neglected to apply the sunblock before applying my clothes. This means I also have a huge burn on my stomach, and

WARNING EXPLICT DESCRIPTION AHEAD

some burns on my poor nipples.

I was going to go down to the market today, but now I'm just going to sit inside and apply aloe gel to myself all day long.

Trouble sleeping. Thoughts are tumbling around in my head and I can't seem to turn off. Not even somewhat productive adult thoughts, but just thoughts in general.

Like, I was thinking about the time I was sitting in a kiddy pool that had water baloons bobbing around in it. My dog was absolutely fascinated. After watching avidly for a while, he gently dipped his head in the water and delicately grabbed a baloon with his teeth. As soon as he got it above water, it exploded.

Man. I laughed my ass off, until I realized he could suck some of that plastic down and choke.

Jackasses and Butt knuckles. I swear. I've got a free bag o' books up on craigslist, and every dumbass on earth is emailing me. Questions I love:

1. Where are you: I mean, c'mon. This is right in the title of my post!

2. How many books do you have: Ummm. A bagfull. Like it says in the TITLE of my post. BAG o'books.

3. Will you deliver them: Hello?? What exactly would I get out of driving all over town to give your lazy ass a FREE bag o'books?

4. What books are in the bag: ITS A FREE BAG OF BOOKS. WHY SHOULD I BE WORKING AT THIS?

Take them or don't. Christ. I don't need any commentary on my book giving away skills. One guy was all pissy that they were first come first serve (Like I said, I'm not going to work at this). I told him to call first to make sure they were still in, but he wrote back all snottily, "HA! IM NOT DRIVING ACCROSS TOWN TO FIND OUT THEY'RE GONE. FORGET THAT."

Jebus. Get over it.

Today I'm riding a wave of surprising motivation. Halls have been cleared. Closets emptied of all superfluous stuff. The old computer is being cleaned and readied for sale. This burst of housecleaning constitutes sweeping reforms in my habits. It's like an election year in an utterly corrupt administration. Only time will tell whether this is a surface fix or a complete change. My bet is on surface fix.

shit. shit shit shit.

I'm feeling strange bursts of optimism and paranoia today. I'm thinking about leaving this rotten old place to strike out for newer more improved quarters. As with all my problems, the geographical solution seems the most likely to effect some kind of cure. But will it?

The place I looked at today seemed perfect at first. But am I just too eager to get out of here? Are my animals going to survive and thrive in a house 1/2 the size of where we are now? Will I?

I don't know. Should I leap, or should I totter on the edge?

Violent Femmes last night-Wow. I don't have any adjectives that can snappily wrap up the experience. I wanted to hug all of them, but that would be all wussy and stuff, so then I wanted to do some sort of hard core salute, but I'm not especially hard core, so I just went home.

Great people watching too. I felt ever so attractive. Then I realized that most of those people are getting laid (even the woman in the grey tank top, with no bra and a tum extending past her extremely long nipples. *shudder*), and I got depressed. Then nauseous.

Since moving to the big city I haven't found a good swimming hole, much less a private skinny-dipping spot. In fact, I really haven't been swimming at all since leaving the big northwoods for "urban" Mad Town. About 6 years now. Sweet Jebus! Has it really been that long?

My long hiatus might have something to do with the outbreak of bacteria in the lakes that was reported almost as soon as I moved down. After hearing the grusome details, I decided, nope, none for me thanks. Later the bacteria was traced to the zoo. Apparently they were simply dumping the animal waste directly into the lakes. I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Anywho. I really got into skinny dipping in high school. One night the girls and I went down to a park long after dark for a moonlit swim. I remember one friend was extremely excited and was standing on a rock, starkers, singing the "I'm very very naked" song.

Meanwhile, someone else had stopped by this person's house to find us. Since her mom knew we were going down to the park (but not why) she kindly volunteered to drive her down. Apparantly, her mom found a sheriff crouched in the bushes, and dispatched him post-haste, and then yelled at us all for being so damn exuberant (or something like that-it wasn't my mom, so I didn't feel compelled to listen). Ah. Flaming Youth.

The snot has cleared and I'm back to my sexy self. Today I had one of those days where you get half way to wherever you're going and think, "That's what I forgot! My deodorant!" The others stare as the stink lines radiate from my smelly body.

All I want is to be a delicate flower of feminimty. Oh well. Fuck the fucking fuckers.

I've been coughing and hacking and making my way through thick jungles of pollen with my swollen head. Have I offended the gods of Oregon? Why am I this shambling mess? No matter how much "medicine" I choke down, my chest still rattles ominously. Must go sleep now.

It's not often that I feel like a responsible citizen. Generally I skulk around avoiding deadlines and duties. But today I sit in a clean house, my loans have been applied for, my schedule for next semester set, my bills are paid and my legs are shaven. All I have to do now is check the mail (probably more bills-shit), fool around with the camera, sit back and watch Simpsons.

I worry when life isn't raining shit on my parade. Unspecified doom wetly laps while the summer decays and curls away.

Today my procrastination throughout the week has hit me in the chest and knocked me off my feet. No more excuses can absolve me. No more work can distract me. It is time to face the moldering piles of laundry, the stacks of unpaid bills and the viciously filthy fucking floors. It's time to live above the ethical floor, above the level of brute beasts. How did it get this way? Where did I go wrong?

I was able to avoid the general ambiance of my place last night by leaving as soon as the cite checking was finished. A friend assisted in running off to clean places, places which did not have goddamned wild hairballs roaming the hallways at night. Today, I've got to create some order.

I spent today the same way I spent yesterday and the day before: cite checking this lumbering 83 page paper. How long will this go on, I wonder. How long before I lose my sanity in great gales of desperate laughter? Will my insurance cover the loss of my sanity? Will workman's comp?

Someone will have to take care of it, and I have the feeling that if I completely lose it, the person taking care of it won't be me. The relief of complete madness beckons, its dancing visage twisted into blessed reassurance. 40 more pages and I may give in.

The house is comming down all around me. Faucets leak. Closet doors run off the track. Windows stand open, screenless. Got to maintain order. Rationality. But summer is upon me, stiffling my better impulses, and turning responsibility into one long debauched night, full of the swilling of booze and the smoking of dope.

How long before it all falls apart, I wonder. I could conceivably call the landlord, but the maintenence man fears my hound, and I have no time to housesit while he makes the necessary repairs. Like so many other things, I have learned to live with the increasing entropy that surrounds me.

A friend came over and porch sat today. We listened to Johnny Cash and drank vodka. It's probably my white trash background. Say what you will, but it's just the thing as darkness closes in on a summer night.

The wanderlust is driving me around these days. I feel so restless. Responsibility stops me from leaving, just like it has stopped me from entertaining other worthwhile ideas. I feel like I've learned whatever it is I could learn here, and it's time to move on to something completely different. But the gigantic goddamn pile of loans stop me. There is no way to run from the government without making some radical lifestyle changes.