Complacent Adjacent

Moving to the top sideways

Forward neck, head first, trying to figure it out.

Push the scapula on the right toward the scapula on the left.

Jinx button is locked like a safety on a gun, so I tilt my head to the side and talk with my hands.

Exaggerate for the comedy routine like nature steps through the woods,
pretending the sewer stream storm drain is a creek,
where magic and graffiti cover the walls of the echo tunnel under the apartments
where there used to be a swim club.
And now there is a laundromat in the McDonald's mansion.

Steadily scanning the news is not the best way to relax and fall asleep on a damp, dank night like tonight. I blog to stay in touch with dearest Jeremy, and to voice the opinion of the inner-me. To review, I am sick and I have taken my "active kids gummie vitamin" because I believe it helps my immune system.
I read everything on the internet this weekend. The whole thing. I read the entire internet. I was stuck inside being sick and it was raining, so I went with it.
If I believed everything I read, I would believe the whole world is in some kind of crisis, but I think there are too many people talking about their feelings and getting 'up in arms' about politics... and as cheesey as it is when my hippie-type friends tell me " it starts within you " I actually believe this.

I really do believe that my perspective is skewed by whatever is going on within me.

I went to my acupuncture doctor the other day and he asked me how I liked my job. I said, " I think they like me...??!!"

He chuckled and responded that of course they like me because I am gentle and kind and they are... basically mirroring me.

When I heard him say that, it was a lightbulb epiphany because I KNEW THAT ONCE and so easily FORGOT!

Whenever I hear or say the word "skewed" I think of skewers and kababs. I can't help it, I just picture red peppers on a skewer.

Either way, these are the ramblings of a sick lady who just spent too much time on twitter and went down the internet rabbit hole yet again. And it's time for sleep.
And this is my diary, today, I suppose.

Cupid Bullshit

Fetal position this morning instead of a job orientation makes a snowstorm seem easy. I have been reading the news and feeling uninspired to jump into Capitalism. Catapultism.

I want a lovin' spoonful. A catapult of sugar cubes.

The cubicle is not calling,
I want to live in Turkey on the beach with palm trees and I will weave rugs all day to pay for my shack to live in.
I want to live in the ocean on a rock covered in seaweed. I want a crown made of tropical flowers.
I want cinnamon scent to wake me up every morning and cupid to sit on my pillow while I sleep. I want cupid to drink my blood from a syphon.

Cutting Edge Fashion and Being Out West

A few years ago, a psychic told me that I should go to Austen, Texas.
She also said that I wouldn't be ready to get married until I was about 34 years old.

It makes sense to me. I am keeping my eyes open for cheap travel to Texas because what she said is there for me is something I have wanted for a while.
No secret-- it's money. She said there is money 'for me' there.

It would be even cooler if there were some kind of buried treasure or a long lost relative there. I know there were most certainly some relatives of mine who 'went west' back in the day. And the slutty side of the family probably made some babies during the Spanish American war. Slutty, or rapy, whatever you wanna call it. Conception doesn't care.

While I was walking in San Francisco, I couldn't help but notice a store called "The Rapy." Regardless of how many times locals corrected my mispronunciation of the storefront sign, I summoned the power of my English degree and told all of them that the capital 'R' seals the deal on the name. We should all just go with it. Rapy fashion is something in between skater, homo-chic, trust fund-hipster, and just plain old cool.

Gotta stay on the cutting edge, my friends.

The Suffi, The Pastor, the Lawyer and the Chinese lady speaking Russian Going to DC for Work''

I was all excited to write a blog 'from the sky' while flying in an airplane, but I couldn't bring myself to pay for it, or become inspired enough to do a live blog from a cramped space where who knows who could read it over my shoulder.
Yes, writing is personal.

Presently, I am stuck in Milwaukee all night in the airport with a Sufi healer, a pastor, and a lawyer. On my way back from the west coast, where the weather was almost absolute shit, and my host demanded that I shower in front of an open window. By this, I mean, she kept her windows open at night with the lights on to keep the moisture out of the bathroom, and I exaggerate, like always.
And I combated the situation by my personality quirk of turning the heat up to 80 degrees whenever I could get away with it.

God bless anyone who has to be roommates with either of us, but, that's beside the point.

Okay, I just laughed out loud in the airplane concourse because a bird just flew down from the ceiling and landed next to the Sufi from St. Paul's School for Girls.
It's a long story, but one day it will all make sense.

The pastor talked to me while the plane took off from San Francisco. She lives a few doors down from my friend Michael and his dog Fenya. It's the same block the Almighty Senators lived on back in the day. For all I know, they still do.
Both of us, the Pastor and I, had heard that there was a blizzard happening back east. I am certain the snow in inconsequential to most, since it's like Saturday and only people who work at the mall have to get up early on Sunday; and they don't matter much.

( Except the people at Sephora who give me samples, they count, but no one else does. )

Well, it's me and the mall people this snow storm effects. I am sitting on the ground in this airport somewhere in the middle of the country and I have joined a group.

I forgot, approaching is the fifth woman who doesn't speak much English. She was taking a walk. She's been quiet.
There are five of us. We know basics about each other, we have a sense of personality, and for all I know each and every one of us could be full of shit, but,
the important thing is, I am pretty sure we are not going to rob each other.

I might try to nap in a while, but this situation is weird and all I want is a shower and a delousing. You know that movie where the guy has that super-high-tech shower stall that exfoliates him and rubs his finger-prints off everyday because he is impersonating someone else? I want one of those.
My phobias get bigger in circumstances like this and then melt away in an ebb and flow.

I am not self-conscious at all right now. It's me, god, and my desire for creature comforts.

I probably need a cigarette soon. It's weird that they don't sell them here. The sufi was helping me sort of time-out the duration I would need to stretch to make the last three last until 6 am when we leave.

Right now, it's between me and the Pastor to watch out for the sleeping ladies. We'll see what happens. ( who is going to fall asleep first? )

Sunday Post Entertainment

I am tickled pink with amusement. My love for slap stick comedy has completely engaged.
I call it slap stick comedy because once I asked a psychologist if I were perhaps evil for enjoying it when other people were hurt. She said that everyone likes the Three Stooges, so laugh away and feel okay.

Anyway. The only article catching my eye today in the NY Times is that one about the emergency room reports in 2008 tallying the number of people injured while walking and using electronic devices at the same time.

Personally, I feel like a dare-devil when I walk around texting, and I usually "pull over" to do it. No, seriously. It's hard to do in New York because of the pace. It's dangerous to do in Baltimore because of the crime. Regardless, I pull over to text, or I do so in a safely locked car while it's in park.

I also try not to text while I am hanging out with someone unlesss we are both texting and multi-tasking together. That's the only green-light to text-away. Otherwise it's rude. I usually see my partner pull out their phone, then I say, "oh, so it's texting time." We take a break to check in with 'those who are not with us'.

But the injuries are hilarious.

When I went back to school last year to finish my degree I noticed that everyone had their ipods plugged into their heads. I observed that this was potentially dangerous on stairwells.
Usually I am on the lookout for someone clumsy who might fall onto me from behind while traveling down a crowded stairwell. I cherish my ability to hear in this case because with my sense of hearing, I would undoubtedly have a few fractions of a second to get out of the way after I heard a grunt or a sneaker squeak. The ipod kids don't have this defense.

The least amount of electronics related injuries occur to people my age 30-40. I wonder why that is. I guess we are used to the technology just enough to have some experience, but we didn't have it when we were younger, so we learned the rules of walking and driving without the technology first. The old folks are just totally helpless. And the young kids are over-confident. That's my summary.

My New York Times Project- Day 1

First, I learned what I already knew:

If Haiti gets money and donations, they won't know what to do with it.
( I knew this days ago. )

I am a big asshole for saying this, but rich people are rich for a reason because they handle money well when they get it, hold onto it and make more. And they will silently murder many to keep it.

That has nothing to do with Haiti.. OR DOES IT? They had a big earthquake and immediately a few things I read (online) drew a parallel between Haiti's earthquake and New Orleans' Katrina hurricane. Yes. It's EVEN more fucked up when a catastrophe hits an already incredibly impoverished area. The whole world feels so bad... but if cameras were there a week prior, the world might feel just as bad. Do I even know the history of Haiti? Only a little, but it is (wince... cringe) what I once read, by definition, a 'slave community'.

But, really no one cared until this week how fucked up things were in Haiti. And Haiti is still effected by the psychological trauma of slavery carried through its culture. So there. Don't even get me started. I could write a book on it, but it's kind of none of my business because I'm not rich and never was, I'm just sayin'.

Next, I read an article about a guy who made it only to the base camp of mountain K-2. I didn't know it before, but now I know the mountain is in Pakistan. Neat. About twenty people died on the mountain while he was there. And he wrote about dead bodies just buried under avalanches of snow with parts sticking out, decaying. He also wrote about North Face equipment, and Germans and an Italian guy who wanted to ski down the mountain, but he died while the writer was at the base camp along with all the others. Interesting, but I don't remember the writer's name because I am a big jerk.

Speaking of big jerks, the most moving article I read was about a little kid in New York who got grounded, but was still allowed to use the Internet. So, she started a facebook 'cause' for no important reason at all other than to get herself out of punishment.
The interjections and inner dialog I had with myself and my computer while reading this article were why it was so emotionally moving for me.
My first instinct was to find her facebook page and comment, " Hey kid, since you have so much energy, why not try to get universal health care? " ( you selfish, selfish human creature with more resources than you know what to do with????)
My god.
Really. Sigh.
When I got to the page, which only took me about three seconds, I saw that I was one of MANY who had the same instinct. When I say many, I mean, hundreds.
Instead of writing my original thoughts, I commented, "This is a waste of everyone's time."

It made me tired just reading the comments.
I don't know what made me more sick:
Was it the article?
Was it the self-involved kid?
Was it the pack of grown adults berating a child for doing what comes naturally to a child?
Or was it the power of the Internet and how much we waste that power every single day for hours on end fulfilling our own whims instead of going out into the world and doing something really *crazy with that power?

Someone suggested that I would find a better job if I read the New York Times every day.
And since I am a college graduate now, I am looking for a job.

It starts today.

*crazy-
amazingly good, delightful, godlike, devilish, mojo, creative, loving, intuitive, communal, and all combinations of words for soul-unity between human beings that the English language doesn't seem to have a word for so I call it crazy for lack of a better word.