She said: How you gonna like ’em, over medium or scrambled?
You say: Anyway’s the only way, be careful not to gamble
on a guy with a suitcase and a ticket gettin’ out of here
in a tired bus station, in an old pair of shoes
cause it ain’t nothin’ but an invitation to the blues
Had a nice weekend. Trip to CT was uneventful, save for trains being very packed, and me managing to lose my digital camera. It was nice to get away from my situation physically for a bit, and unplug with some damn good people. My old friend and her husband were wonderful hosts. We had dinner at a place called “Chuck’s Steakhouse” Friday night, where I had the first glass of port I have had in a good while. We laid out plans for the rest of the weekend, which largely involved big patches of nothing.
Never had no destination, could not get across.
You became my inspiration, oh but what a cost.
Cause every time I hear that melody, well, something breaks inside,
And the grapefruit moon, one star shining, is more than I can hide.
Saturday, I got up decently early intending to write, but ended up getting into one of many of the good conversations I had over the weekend. There were so many times I was unable to really come up with answers deserved – it was frustrating. About the time I was plotting on what to cook my hosts for dinner, Marley was getting a vet checkup with Richelle. He is aok – and got a full round of vaccinations, castigations, litigations, and, his nails clipped. He will be going to CT the first weekend in December. As much as this will simplify my life in some ways, and lessen my daily emotional lodestone weight, it feels like a very abrupt chapter break in my life – I have no idea where the plot goes from here.
And I admit that I ain’t no angel
I admit that I ain’t no saint
I’m selfish and I’m cruel but you’re blind
If I exorcise my devils
Well my angels may leave too
When they leave they’re so hard to find
I cooked some good food Saturday night, I made ravioli with alfredo sauce, sauteed spinach with garlic, and brown-sugared acorn squash. I had some decent white wine fo the price (cheap) and learned that Yellow Tail reserve is DEFINITELY worth the three bucks over the regular vintage. I also learned that Little Penguin is my new favorite Australian white for accompanying cheese, and cheese-based sauces. It is absolutely airy, with a very pleasant bouquet, and a lovely fruit-filled aftertaste.
Well I got a bad liver and broken heart, yeah,
I drunk me a river since you tore me apart
And I don’t have a drinking problem, ‘cept when I can’t get a drink
And I wish you’d a-known her, we were quite a pair,
She was sharp as a razor and soft as a prayer
So welcome to the continuing saga, she was my better half, and I was just a dog
And so here am I slumped, I’ve been chipped and I’ve been chumped on my stool
I may have a new job. I have taken steps towards a position offered to me as a Technology Coordinator for the Membership Services Department at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I have the job all in word, it is simply a matter of budgets being approved for the position to go my way. I should know by Thanksgiving – if I do not, it will be the week after. I have not decided what, if anything, I will do if I DO get the job. There are a great many possibilities to consider, sometimes so many that I feel like my lens can’t possibly keep them all in focus. If this position does not happen, it is very likely I will not be in New York in a year.
My lease is up in March, and I have no idea what logistical loopholes I am going to have to squirm through to keep this place, given the change in roommate situations, and the steps I had to take to secure the lease in the first place. The idea of trying to scale that hill right now leaves me bone-weary mentally. I may go sojourn. I may go back to school. I may renounce my citizenship in a flight of fancy. I may just keep on doing what I am doing for another year so I am not cutting lose with so many ragged wounds sapping at me, emotionally and financially. I may return to a thread in my life I had abandoned. I may join Greenpeace. I may sign on as a North Atlantic fisherman.
I have taken some steps towards trying to get my driver’s license back. That would be a good thing, I think, no matter what ends up happening.
Hey little bird, fly away home
your house is on fire; your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
your house is on fire; your children are alone
I have almost given up on Nano – I am almost 3/4 of the month gone, and less than 12k words. I am frustrated, sullen, and not looking forward to the holidays, and the roller coaster of memory and emotional stress they create in me. I need to hit the lotto, like that dumb ass car parker who won 150mil this weekend. Then I can clean my slate responsibly, and pick a path without constantly being reminded of the fetters of obligation my choices have forged for me over the years.
I hate worrying about money – I hate thinking about it all the time.
Could stay here all night,
they claim your outta sight
please get up and turn out the light
There ain’t nothing better than the middle of the night
I have approached a plateau in my creative absorption it seems. I read three books this weekend, and not nearly enough spark remains of what I digested of them to fuel my answering the questions they brought up. I cannot listen to any genre of music for more than two songs in a row. It is maddening. It used to be artists, now it is genre. I feel like some sort of patchwork quilt of inspiration – no pattern, just slapdash scraps and mismatched threads. Tom Waits, once again, has become the only thing I CAN listen to for more than one song, and I don’t like doing it. As much as I love him, his words offer no comfort lots of the time.
I realized during a conversation on Friday that I have now spent more than half my life at some form of labor or another, year round. That statistic, I fear, is not going to grow any cheerier with time. I am not old, but I feel it. I feel like a worn out shoe – bought new but walked hard, then abandoned by some interstate roadside for three seasons before becoming a nest for mice, or an artificial pot for a newly sprouting shoot of some sort. Years of being the responsible one? Getting old – when do I get to bugger off at everyone’s expense and have my life bounce back?
Maybe it is just my homeward commute talking – I had a rough one, due to shitty planning on my part. Next time, I check all the schedules before leaving the goddamn house.
The fog’s liftin’
And the sand’s shiftin’
and I’m driftin’ on out
And Ol’ Captain Ahab
He ain’t got nothin’ on me.
So come on and swallow me, don’t follow me
I’m trav’lin’ alone
Blue water’s my daughter
‘n I’m gonna skip like a stone