The Good News

Is that Matty landed a great job. I'm not sure what he's going to be doing, but it sounds both funky and high-powered and it has something to do with a nonprofit and cool coworkers and editing film. I'm so proud of him. In only a month, he did it. I'm not surprised, though. I'm always astounded by his perseverance and drive.

I'm still looking for a place to live, and today Matty and B showed my around the lower Haight, which is where I think I want to be. I applied for a tiny place there on a lovely, wide street flanked by nicely-painted Victorians. I hope I get it. There were no refrigerators abandoned on the sidewalks, no spraypaint on the sides of the houses, no empty boxes and old stereos in the gutter. I'd be allowed to have one well-behaved pet, and it's an easy bike ride to the bookstore where I work. Just down the street there were lots of little restaurants and stores. Good-looking guys everywhere, and perhaps some of them were straight, who knows?

Best of all, it's only a few blocks away from Matty, and while I don't want to be a nuisance, I'd feel safer and happier knowing he was nearby. Okay, I don't just mean happier, I mean filled with joy. Through all of this, he makes me feel as though it's possible. And B seems to understand my anxiety. He told me something last night -- backsliding is normal, and to be expected. We go up, and we go down, and then we go up again. But the ups go a little higher each time, so if we have patience, we'll get to the top of the hill. It's a very San Francisco metaphor, as it mimics the layout of our streets.

Matty and B are lucky indeed to have found each other, and I'm honored to be their friend. When I'm feeling better, I want so badly to return the favor.

I also have to thank my boss as KQED for letting me take a little break. I sure hope my next play review is a good one.

Things Just Took A Nosedive,

and as luck would have it, I'm losing my apartment. I'm not really sure what I'm going to do next. I'm trying to be tough, but I'm scared to death -- I'm just thankful I have my job. If it weren't for that, I don't think I'd have any structure at all. So many things have worked out differently than I expected. It's been very chaotic, and I live in a constant state of confusion.

You know, I thought that after a great fall, you hit bottom and then rise up again. I feel like I keep slipping. Like the bottom keeps breaking open, revealing that there's further to fall, and below that level there's another, and another. It's unbelievable.

But I still don't think it's hopeless.

Time Out

I'm afraid the pace of my life has become extremely frantic -- work is starting to take over my entire life, and for the next two weeks I have absolutely no free time. Literally, I don't. I barely have time to do the regular maintenance things, like grocery shopping and showering. And wouldn't you know it, I have jury duty, too.

I'm NOT going to cut out the yoga practice, so I have to cut out other things for a short time. Unfortunately, that means I can't focus much on this blog, and there are now two people in my life that I really have to speak to at length. I have to postpone those talks.

It's 5:30 in the morning. I have to run. I will be back, so I hope you'll bear with me.

Sometimes Alone Sounds Pretty Good

My ex-boyfriend was an electrician, and sometimes I was his helper.

In the beginning I wasn't any good, and he was a very bad teacher. During our first job he jabbered on about "runs," pointing up the walls and all across the ceiling, then he spent the rest of the day drilling holes through studs, obsessing about the precise size of those holes, and swearing. At the end of the day, when he finally looked up from those worrisome holes, he saw the evidence that I hadn't understood him, not even close, because I had romex running outside of the studs, in places where there was supposed to be sheetrock.

Years later, when I'd become a great helper, he reminded me of that first job when I had no skills, when I wrote "pee" on the ends of the P wires, when the guys who finished the job bitched about my handiwork and seemed to think my being young and female had something to do with it. My ex-boyfriend told me he'd known all along it'd been his own fault. I was the best helper he'd ever had, he said. He was the coolest guy I'd ever met.

I miss learning something new, the challenge of it. By which I mean, I guess I'm ready to be alone for a while. In fact, I'm downright excited. But I'm also deeply scared.

* * *

Oh, and I'm reading this new title by David Lynch, the filmmaker I admire most. It's called Catching The Big Fish: Meditation, Consciousness, And Creativity, and it's about where ideas come from. His tone is what I would call blandly fascinating. Lynch isn't a great prose stylist, but these little prose fragments do guide the reader to a place that invites us to dream, and to dream deeply, and this invitation is hard to turn down. I've started meditating, and so far I find the practice a big relief.



Here's a factoid: Lynch is adamant about disliking director's commentary tracks on DVDs because he says that the thing is the film: "You should try to see the whole film through, and try to see it in a quiet place, on as big a screen as you can with as good a sound system as you can. Then you can go into that world and have that experience."

I think I love him. But I don't plan on dating anyone for a while, so his loss.

Here, Hear, Here.

I'm writing to express my gratitude to Ginab and Matty for helping me to get my ass in gear. In certain ways, I'm doing well: I've been practicing lots of yoga, I'm (mostly) eating and drinking what I should eat and drink, I get enough sleep, and so far I'm continuing to learn from fate's awfulness. But when it comes to the immediate and practical things, I've been trying to pretend that I needn't pay attention.

Now that my friends have stepped in with ideas and advice, it's time for me to do my part. And I will. Issues having to do with finance and taxes and income -- I hate having to think about these things because they seem dry and abstract. I've always felt that there's something slightly immoral about money. But it's time. Ugh. Why can't the world operate a little differently for folks like me?



Here's the precise reason I'm grateful. I've always sort of thought that everyone is, deep down inside of themselves, good and kind and compassionate. I've recently found out that this might not be true in all cases. But I still have grave doubts that my original thoughts are false. Look, I'm not a Christian or a Hindu or a Scientologist. I'm nothing except maybe what yoga draws out of me. And I can't shake the thought that goodness isn't just possible, but that it is also common. I do hope I'm not deluding myself and being a fool.

To this day, my faith in my two best friends has not been shaken, and this proves that I'm not completely deluded. If I'm not, in this case, deluded, then there's hope for the future. If there's hope for the future, then there's something to strive for. And so I will strive, and perhaps through striving I will someday be proud of myself. If I am ever proud of myself, I will be satisfied and ready to get old and die. I will owe this to my two best friends, who I love fiercely.

Here, Today, The Present

Wow, the new year didn't start off the way I hoped it would, not by a long shot. Prepared for something transformative and lovely, I was instead beleaguered by sad memories and disappointments. Mercury is in retrograde, or something.

I'll continue to soldier on. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm not nearly the adult I dreamed I would be when I was a child. Are you?

Tomorrow, I'm Back To Work

Tonight's yoga class was the best I've ever had. The mantra was "strength," and we did lots of balancing poses during which we tightened our bellies and suspended various limbs in the air for long periods of time. My legs and feet feel great. I now understand how strength has improved my balance.

Not to be all New-Agey. Because I'm not. I guess I used to seem that way, though, because when I was younger I was always getting approached by cult recruiters. One had dreadlocks and offered me a free vegetarian dinner. I knew better.



ANYWAY,

yesterday I took the bus to Third and Mission, the SFMOMA. I went to see two things: 1. the Phil Collins documentary called dünya dinlemiyor (the world won't listen), and 2. the Anselm Keifer exhibit.

1.



In the documentary, young Istanbulis (is that what they're called?) sing karaoke tracks from The Smiths' The Smiths album. Most fascinating is the way the subjects behave, because each is obviously aware that s/he's being filmed; many of the performances begin awkwardly. In this awkwardness lies a clue to the humanity of each singer. The strange becomes familiar. It's a wonderful feeling.

2.




Anselm Keifer is this German guy who painted large, sad-looking paintings in browns, grays, whites and blacks. His sculptures are made out of lead, and it's always night in his work. He uses lots of heavy symbols, like snakes and flames and stairs. I guess he was trying to remind his fellow Germans that the Holocaust did, indeed, happen and that we must face the things we are ashamed of because facing shame is a form of spiritual struggle. Or at least, that's how I interpreted it.

At the end of my glorious day off, I strolled around the gift shop, where I really didn't want to buy anything. Except this poster, which I did buy, and which I just love. It's one of Chuck Close's self-portraits.



This year I got a pretty great Christmas bonus. I now have a bike rack for my car, Matty's baby picture is properly framed, and my existence is rapidly improving. It's time for me to chill on the spending.