Reasons Why I Don't Use This Blog Anymore

1. I

2. Just

3. Don't.

4. listgeeks.com

March Forth - the umpteenth time I "get my life in order"

1. Stop spending frivolously just because I can manage to pay my bills.
2. Plant more stuff in the backyard. 4 of my 6 hyacinths are poking up, but I want wildflowers and a lettuce patch and more moss!
3. Organize my pantry and get a collection of mason jars for storing bulk items.
4. Give my bedroom some personality, as I'm probably going to be here for awhile.
5. Treat my poor car better.
6. Try not to get so worked up about work, and refuse to let my inferior superiors get to me.
7. Throw a small cocktail party (with food, of course.)
8. Actually work toward paying back the large sum of money I owe to my parents.
9. Interview my grandparents about their lives.
10. Look for public fruit trees and harvest them.

My mom looked at my bank statement and told me that I have a bakery problem

Food cravings, February 2010. I am obviously listing on an empty stomach.

1. Al pastor burrito/tacos with cheese and cream from Tacos Mi Rancho
2. Duck confit hash from Bistro 1491
3. Rillettes from La Bedaine (and I haven't even tasted one yet)
4. Macaron (especially pistachio) from Feel Good Bakery
5. Breadsticks from aforementioned bakery
6. My sister's shortbread
7. English muffin sandwich from Piedmont Cafe

Ferocious Wants

I want a lot, luckily more than I need. Gotta get it out of my system.

Fresh-squeezed orange juice with no pulp.

A back rub from someone I know and like because I don't really like strangers putting their hands all over me.

More days to just spend going to the library.

A Fudgesicle, or something like a Fudgesicle.

A nice leather bound dictionary.

Money for interior decorating.

Sunlight for plants.

A cat.

A moped.

A letter.

A really cold glass of water with no ice.

A large vase with some branches in it and a place to put it.

Pan-fried trout with butter and a slice of lemon.

A roof garden.

A really soft, large blanket.

More privacy.

Some kind of coherent color scheme in my living quarters.

The opposite of an impending headache.

A rich old lady coat.

Some fog that lasts all day.

A mystery to solve.

A temple to deposit coins in and ring a bell or something. Like, down the street.

Eine Kleine Sommer Buchliste

Just finished The Children's Hospital by Chris Adrian (see digital shrine on other blog) and after getting my brains pounded into the back of my skull in a pleasurable literary type way (Shut up.) I am ready for some shorter books or a really long one about food. Might read a geology book over again, too -- maybe an actual textbook, but more likely the one by John McPhee.

1. All or some of The Art of Eating by M.F.K. Fisher

2. Geek Love by Katherine Dunn

3. A Mouthful of Air by Amy Koppelman

3. Motorman by David Ohle ✓

4. Your Body is Changing by Jack Pendarvis ✓

5. Sometimes My Heart Pushes My Ribs by Ellen Kennedy

6. Butterfly Stories by William T. Vollman ✓

7. An Oz book or two

8. The Road by Cormac McCarthy ✓

Rereads

9.The Little Friend by Donna Tartt ✓

10. Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan

Getting Sadder House Sitter

Finish the book I’m reading, start another.

Touch the spines of all of my books.

Scrub myself clean and raw.

Look at my body.

Look away.

Look at my face, hair.

Note that my hair is the exact color of mouse fur.

Look at my movies.

Note The Last Unicorn.

Think about being the only one here,

The only one not on this vacation,

The only one alive in my family,

The world.

Stop thinking.

Floss my teeth, especially the back ones.

Hope my sister’s cancerous rat doesn’t die.

Decide to put it in the freezer if it does.

Let my hair get dirty.

Move on all fours.

Go wild.

Play the piano, my own songs.

Pedal the piano, someone elses songs.

Howl when the dogs do.

Give encouragement.

Turn my phone off.

Turn it back on again “for safety reasons.”

Look at my messy room that isonly kind of my room anymore.

Think “My stuff is still here, but that hardly matters.”

Push everything into a pile like my mom taught me to do when I was to force myself to clean.

Clean.

Seperate and wash, dry and fold.

Think about monotony and banality and the doldrums.

Think about being taken on a date by someone who has brushed up against my unshaven legs in bed.

Think about staring at that someone from across a table and feeling slightly giddy.

Think about feeling new.

Think about going to buy new underwear and socks because all mine seem to keep disappearing.

Read the newspaper that comes daily because no one else is here to do it.

Look at things I don’t need or want in the classified section.

Pick a flower, put it in a vase, set it where I can see it.

Watch television with the dogs.

Tear the pages off of my calender.

Feel nothing, bordering on fine during the day.

Feel scared at night.

Reach out for one of three small warm bodies.

Know they cannot help me in the way that I need.

Try to sink into the bed like in Nightmare on Elm Street.

Wonder what everyone else is doing.

Wonder if anyone is thinking about me this very second.

Write an email to my boyfriend and then delete it.

Write a list about loneliness before anyone has actually left yet.

Everything is and will be just fine or more than fine or just great and I am so happy, are you?

This was a writing exercise in the form of naive apology to the sir I once had another blog with. I haven't wanted to do any of the following things for some time now, but have decided to keep this posted in order for this blog to remain (mostly) intact. Man I am in love with: forgive me and consider this list fictional.

1. I want to cook dinner with you and for you and pester you in a charming way until you pretend to clobber me and squash me on the bed, or we both pretend to fall asleep and snore loudly.

2. I want to go to a party and be less scared because you are there and occasionally squeeze my hand or rub my knuckles with your forefinger and then I will find out that it’s easy and then I have fun.

3. I want to clean your bathroom. No seriously - it’s a little gross.

4. I want to eat your frozen Ding Dongs.

5. I want to rub your shoulders after a stressful day at work or take a train and meet you there when your shift is over on a sunny day or a foggy one or a night of any kind.

6. I want to hold your hand.

7. I want to make up funny, snide things with you about your boss.

8. I want to co-write something with you.

9. I want to lie in bed with you on a shared day off and press myself really close, falling asleep almost, until you break the silence with some burst of sleep-laughter, waking yourself up, too.

10. I want to make-believe in a room in the Palace Hotel with you.

11. I want your parents to like me.

12. I want you to like me more.

13. I want to earn it.

14. I don’t want to be in some 2009 self-staged production of Oedipus Rex.

15. I want to bake you a birthday cake.

16. I want to cat-burgle a rare books dealer and procure for you a copy of the Codex Seraphinianus and never get caught and laugh my ass off in an alley somewhere while the sirens blare by.

17. I want to make you things and make things with you and know we are making each other happy.

18. I want you to be proud of me.

19. I want to inspire you to sit up in the dark and jot something down in the middle of the night.

20. I want to sail a boat with you and go to the desert with you and Big Sur and Hawaii and Portland and Austin.

21. I want fennecs in Marfa.

22. I want the Alaskan salmon stickers to never fall off of your wallet.

23. I want to give you those frequent haircuts you seem to need.

24. I want to tell you your mustache looks nice. (Your mustache looks nice.)

25. I want to read all of your books, I want you to read all of mine.

26. I don’t want to write another autobiographical story about a break-up.

27. I want to get a better coffee maker.

28. I want to see movies with you.

29. I want to own the Criterion Collection.

30. I want to watch the sun go down again with you.

31. I don’t want our sun to go down.

32. I want to watch the sun come up with you, too, from some high vantage point.

33. I don’t want to put out your campfire.

34. I want to find Sasquatch with you. Maybe he is in Hawaii, sitting on a surfboard, fishing.

35. I want to make a coffee table from that Rand McNally map of the world and arrange your zine collection on it, like some kind of cool dentist’s office waiting room.

36. I want to make up Casio tunes with you.

37. I want to share a bottle of decent champagne with you.

38. I want to drink it in the bathtub, cramped, slippery, happy.

39. I want to go to a parade in Japantown.

40. I want to ride on the back of your cafe racer.

41. I want to act like I’m boring you about cemetery history, but not have you really be bored.

42. I want you to encourage me to keep going.

43. I want to tell you - “Keep going.”

44. I want to cause you to float away on a regular basis.

45. I want to do my homework in the living room with you.

46. I want us to shake our fists at the sky and roar “Coppola!” or “Reveaux!”

47. I want to cloudbust with you.

48. I want to photograph more picnics and make movies.

49. I want to go grocery shopping and buy cheese. Goat cheese and olives.

50. I want to go down a big slide in San Francisco with you.

51. I want to Mraw mraw mraw, mraw mraw.