Moves:
LA to SF in ‘07
SF to PDX in ‘11
PDX to Vancouver in ‘12?
Vancouver to SF in ‘14?Planning this far ahead seems obsessive.
I neglected to note (mentally, on paper) that I wanted to squeeze in a quick walk across the country before moving to Vancouver for a year of school, during which I apparently am not allowed to work.
(Lame, Canada. Fuckin’ lame.)
I’ll have to engage in border smuggling to get by.
The kind of night when I’m glad I keep various sorts of tea that I am not personally partial toward, as well as a kettle that takes its time coming to boil. A lamp I do not need is less sharp in its illumination. Books on the shelves provide a mild enough distraction in the haze of semi-light. Speakers that are never quiet let out the sharp then flat intonation of so-called classical music. A much-maligned harpsichord to fill the pauses between topics. The occasional blow of the heater to provide background rumble and unnecessary warmth.
Always losing sleep for some damned reason or another.
Moves:
LA to SF in ‘07
SF to PDX in ‘11
PDX to Vancouver in ‘12?
Vancouver to SF in ‘14?Planning this far ahead seems obsessive.
I neglected to note (mentally, on paper) that I wanted to squeeze in a quick walk across the country before moving to Vancouver for a year of school, during which I apparently am not allowed to work.
(Lame, Canada. Fuckin’ lame.)
I’ll have to engage in border smuggling to get by.
“Did you ever really want to just have lunch?”
“Of course. I said I did.”
“And we always ended up having sex.”
“…”
“Hello?”
“I’m here. I had several dirty jokes all fighting to be blurted out.”
“Oh, nice.”
“You know, it’s not every man who wants to head out in the middle of the day to fuck the girl he’s dating senseless.”
“Under the guise of lunch!”
“You didn’t say anything. We were both satisfied.”
“Forget it.”
The kind of night when I’m glad I keep various sorts of tea that I am not personally partial toward, as well as a kettle that takes its time coming to boil. A lamp I do not need is less sharp in its illumination. Books on the shelves provide a mild enough distraction in the haze of semi-light. Speakers that are never quiet let out the sharp then flat intonation of so-called classical music. A much-maligned harpsichord to fill the pauses between topics. The occasional blow of the heater to provide background rumble and unnecessary warmth.
Always losing sleep for some damned reason or another.
My gym closed this week and I went on about the business of canceling that membership and searching for what they call a home club. One place was small and a ten minute walk away, but they closed at 6pm when I sometimes require 10pm exhaustion. The gym recommended by the company was both too far and too much like a human sweat factory. The third—and winner—was more comfortable in its layout and close enough to walk to. When I exited with my card in hand it was about 31 degrees Fahrenheit, which was an exciting prospect for walks home.
Anyway, I sat at a red light to think about this and encountered an amusing Wi-Fi signal name. It was locked, which you’ll agree is an awful tease.
1. “desire to see everyone”
2. “back against the wall looking out phobia”
3. “back to the ocean”
4. “phobia being surrounded”
5. “eyes on everyone”
6. “back against the cliff”
7. “need go have one’s eyes on everyone”
8. “eye see you”
9. “ocean side real estate”
10. “carmel-by-the-sea properties”
11. “big bear mountain properties”
12. “biodegradable urn”
13. “bury my shell at wounded knee”
My gym closed this week and I went on about the business of canceling that membership and searching for what they call a home club. One place was small and a ten minute walk away, but they closed at 6pm when I sometimes require 10pm exhaustion. The gym recommended by the company was both too far and too much like a human sweat factory. The third—and winner—was more comfortable in its layout and close enough to walk to. When I exited with my card in hand it was about 31 degrees Fahrenheit, which was an exciting prospect for walks home.
Anyway, I sat at a red light to think about this and encountered an amusing Wi-Fi signal name. It was locked, which you’ll agree is an awful tease.
1. “desire to see everyone”
2. “back against the wall looking out phobia”
3. “back to the ocean”
4. “phobia being surrounded”
5. “eyes on everyone”
6. “back against the cliff”
7. “need go have one’s eyes on everyone”
8. “eye see you”
9. “ocean side real estate”
10. “carmel-by-the-sea properties”
11. “big bear mountain properties”
12. “biodegradable urn”
13. “bury my shell at wounded knee”
I’ve taken to walking out onto the balcony in as few clothes as possible now that it’s colder. Pants, shirtless, that sort of thing. It’s a strange sort of rush when it’s so cold that the body begins to tremble and I, inevitably, begin to lose feeling. Being that I am openly nostalgic and a closet sentimentalist, I use the time to consider the past and current events. Understandably, my most recent thoughts were about my grandfather. I conjured up a memory of him from my last visit, sitting on his bed and flanked by a daughter on either side. They were dressing him from the top down. A loose fitting flannel shirt and gray slacks; a belt cinched around his small waist. His tiny frame was so different from my own wide-shouldered and thick-trunked one that I wondered if we could even be related. I compared us to my own father’s thin, knobby body—one he was not ashamed to display on those tightey whitey mornings—and again, I had to wonder. Three generations of men whose lives have all been different in so many ways. I could not help but reduce us to the sum of our body parts for the sake of simplicity.
I also thought about the cold, namely that it was quite cold and I wanted to return inside. I thought about swimming. I wondered if a large beige and brown man can turn blue.
