I have an addiction.
I’ve had similar addictions before. But there is something about this one that is WORSE than the others. It is as though me and this thing were made for one another by the committee of people who put together stuff that just … FITS. Stuff that fizzes and fizzles.

When I put the cold can in my hand, no matter what the size, the normal cans or the smaller novelty ones, my palm folds neatly around it like a lover’s caress. I give the aluminum a light squeeze and I recognize that SOUND from anywhere as I give the top a practiced POP!

My lips are already crizzling with anticipation (yes, I made that word up just now. Isn’t it delicious?).

Like the steamed pork buns from the dim sum restaurant that shut down, or guacamole cups from Teka Molino – this is a taste that can’t be duplicated.

I have a list of tastes that can’t be replaced, and this addiction sits right there in my top with the migas and the cheesy things.

The only thing better than the pop of the aluminum is the whoosh! of the soda machine at the taco place. I make a suicide- it’s a horrible name for a drink that rocks.. a drink that renews my will to live each and every depressing time. There is an exactness about it’s preparation.. But these things must be cultivated.

I think that perhaps I am just nervous this week, and so my addictions serve to comfort me. I know that things are fine in moderation.

Maybe it’s the weekend.

I am a very nervous creature. And it’s not like it was in high school.

Or maybe it is EXACTLY like it was in high school.

I wish I could feel relaxed once again, but those things are always so temporary. They are there to be learned from..

It’s not good to feel TOO safe I guess.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I’m going to blog now

I am very upset. The reason that I am upset is that I’m sick. For many reasons, I am a real baby about getting sick. And if I get sick, it’s hard for me to get better, so I get pretty scared.

When I get sick I have half a brain. This is half of the 3/4 of a brain that I usually walk around with. I don’t respond well to medication.

I tend to drive people away when I am sick, which is bad because that is usually when I need them the most. It’s a double whammy, because you’re usually also contagious and gross.

If I have any work to do, I can’t keep my mind on it very well. It doesn’t get done like it should. Fear mounts and I feel everything slipping away. The world goes on without me. I’ve been sick before, and I stayed sick. So every time I GET sick, I think, am I going to stay sick this time too, and not be able to get any work done? Is this it for me?

A little dramatic, I s’pose. But when there has been a lot of silence around you a lot of the time, and you have worked really HARD to overcome that … you are afraid of everything you’ve built just disappearing in the wind.

Rattled and Lagging

I’m feeling pretty bad right now. I was in a band for a while, but now I’m not.

I’ve still got John, I know … and later I’ll text him back. He knows I’m back from my super-secret trip. He wants to hear about it.

It won’t be hard to talk about not being in the other band with him, because I hadn’t told him that I was in another local thing. But he will be elated to know that I am still on board with him. He has stuck by me unwaveringly for ten years.

I think I need to start learning to like what I’ve got and not yearn for what I’ll never have just because I had those perfect-piece-of-pie moments that only last for a little while. Since there is never going to be an Anchorheads, or a run like Fu Six-plus (what I’m calling my story of a song); I need to just fold this hand.

If you have class, you know when a mix isn’t working, and when a thing has run its course. You know when you have started to smell and it’s time to move along. This is why one of my favorite animals is the phoenix.

And this is why my trip has been so mysterious. I think I was going off somewhere, to be alone, and to die- so I could figure out what I was going to come back to and if I had the stones to be alone artistically. And learn to live either way, regardless. And stop inviting trouble, or playing with fire just because it’s pretty and I’m very curious about such things.

I’m going to figure this thing out.

And, by the way, if I’m shy… I have REALLY good reasons for it. Maybe I’m trying to protect something.

Maybe I just need to cover up a little better. Or grow thicker, better moisturized and well-toned skin.

“vegetarian food made with love”

Today I  am back in town and I went to a new cafe which I don’t remember the title of which absconded with my old Garden District cafe. They had tables which are too tall so I sat outside. The view is still the same because there is stlll the same plant sales-place in the back.

I almost locked my keys in the car whilst I was getting out and then almost-slammed my thumb in the door anyhow. I’m a little annoyed that there wasn’t any wifi. I asked Tunafish dude, but he just looked at me like I was entitled.

Now I am looking at this fly who is trying to steal my doubledecker vegan coookie sandwich with icing in the middle like HE’S entitled. The fly can suck it. Or, rather, I’d rather he didn’t. Oh well. Moving along.

I was going to make a list, but I think that I’ve been a little too liberal with what I number in the past. I think that it has probably contributed to the disorganized flotsam in my brain.

It smells like patchouli at this cafe. I’m sorry to typecast, but it just really does. Someone with Doc Martens and an attuitue walked by and I am more and more nervous and claustrophobic about my ability to “make it” in this town being inversley proportional to the number of holes in my face.

I am imagining taking a hatchet to the fly on this vegan cookie. That’ll show the antidisestablishmentarians! RARAAARHHH!

I have an alarm on my new house. I am telling you this so that you will stay the $%&^ away if you are not Expressley Invited and do not know the proper Incantations, and also so that you can understand my high level of stress over such things. There’s numbers and stuff to memorize. Change has to be embraced. I went into the chat twice today to complain about this (I fear change) to someone with a waiting ear, but I s’poze that all the people who go into the chat have lives and did not want to hear about my alarming problems and unchanged obsessions in the absence of any great epiphiptwinnies.

I don’t know what the mosquitos think they are doing still out at this time of the year, but they are not kidding anyone. I’m not really all that impressed. Actually, I take that back. I am pretty impressed that Mr. Asshat Mosquito has the audacity to go directly for my funnybone the minute I sit down. I feel kind of violated. This sandwich had better be good. What the hell… with all these bugs. I was thinking about telling people where I was with one of these fine GPS tracker applications, but I don’t think I will. I’m feeling ornery, if you didn’t notice.

The weather is not really that bad, but pretty humid. There’s a nice breeze now which is doing it’s level best to calm my bitchy young soul. This is paradoxically making me feel both peevish and as though I am  being patronized by the weather. It also makes me feel stupid, because when I type that phrase I am never EXACTLY sure whether or not I say that I’m being talked down to in a head-pattingly-annoying sort of way, or if I’m being visited and perused, and then having my Wares Purchased.

This in turn makes me even MORE annoyed, because PayPal is not cooperating with me. I had some nice person that I know who shall remain unnamed buy an entire album of my music which they could have gotten for free if they’d liked or really wanted to … and PayPal sent them back their money. I will get to the bottom of this, to be sure.

I’m not really getting what I want in life, but this is my own fault at this juncture so I am going to have to hop. I plan to be more assertive in the near future. I feel as though I have backtracked a little bit. The only way to play the game is to show up and declare yourself. To make your presence known, so to speak. I have traditionally  enjoyed hiding in the shadows though, that’s my trouble. I think I care too much what people think. I think I am terrified of losing my allies. I have worked so hard to get them. I’ve done the walk-ing a-lone on a tightrope thing and I’m afraid that I’ll fall down if I start jiggling around too much.

But if I think that I can actually fly and stuff there shouldn’t be any problems. Don’t I think I can? These are interesting questions? Maybe I am invisible AND I can fly? Maybe I am a crazy person, living in a fantasy world. Why didn’t I do the comic book contest? Maybe I am trying to wean myself off of contests and do something else.

Tonight I am going to a writer’s group with my friend Rebekah. I’m excited about this and will probably blog about it. I will probably plan some bite-y off-y more than I can chew-y stuff. It’s moon day, someone on my twitter stream has said. Mohawk Barista is wearing a half-shirt. The children are no longer screaming. The breeze isn’t as annoying anymore. Not one person on this side porch is wearing ANYTHING normal. I’m wearing a new necklace and new matching earrings, along with a necklace that I originally bought for Rebekah so I am going to continue wearing it until I see her and then take it off my neck and give it to her. She’ll think that’s funny. It’s so me to do something like that. I am a writer of late-late letters and a giver of late gifts and a maker of grand and secret gestures. I write people silly songs and secret messages.

I am thankful for my friends, especially the ones who have been so supportive over the past few months. It’s been a weird time of transition, and I think when I come through it it will all make a lot more sense to everyone. EVERYTHING will finally make sense. I will keep plugging away, making plans. If I didn’t have them I don’t know what I’d do.

Denise Ellen Hudson

Meet Denise Ellen Hudson. She’s 14 or 15. She talks a LOT. My friend Somer just showed her to me. I have known HER for half my life in different incarnations. She’s familiar and strange. She’s not really from this place. She once drew the Xondorian logo on her shoe. I think it was from one of the cities Xylogon or something like that. This is probably because she sometimes played the Xylophone and she was not very original.

She wrote poetry in a notebook called “It Used to Be Red” and kept a diary in a little yellow book with green flowery-things on it. I think it’s in the closet in a box. I know where it is and it’s ready to be moved in with the rest of the things I have to go through. I have to decide what Old-Denise needs to throw away.

There are things that old-Denise should probably quit dwelling upon. Nice to remember, bad to dwell.

Denise is me obviously. Denise has not learned to write lists yet, or songs. She does not really know how to sing. In fact, she doesn’t KNOW that she CAN sing.

She plays the piano, but not that well at the point of this photograph. She thinks she’s real good of course. She has a secret passion for pairs figure skating already and she plans to be a fantasy novelist. She’s IS probably one of the better piano players in her high school, and later on will go onto school and study with someone who is pretty amazing to her. She will NOT be one of the better piano players at her university, and CERTAINLY not good enough to “concertize” (which should not really be a verb but is anyway, which Present Denise thinks is snooty).

Denise is what the Australians (later, she marries one. Denise has always been fascinated by the oddnesses about people. She REALLY likes people) call a “show pony.” She LOVES attention. This has not really changed. We live in a world where it is difficult to admit that we like attention. She has been dealing with THIS since she was half the age she was in the photo.

I am cleaning my house, now, in 2010. I have found pictures of Denise’s mother. No one told Denise that she wouldn’t have a mother in 2007, which doesn’t seem like very long away when you REALLY think about it instead of thinking about boring Algebra. Or her first stepmother, and that in only three years. I can’t remember when THIS Denise started being a vegetarian, but when her first stepmother was killed, she attacked the meat tray the day she heard about it, because you do mindless things like that when you are grieving even though you KNOW you are going to get sick.

The watch I found was hers. Her name was Michelle. She was very pretty and I have her wallet. My dad didn’t remarry for quite a while. His wife-of-the-present is a very good mom and very sweet and we are friends on facebook. She’s helping my father open up a business, which is hard in his field. My father has not yet learned to operate facebook. A lot of my family is now using facebook, and it is extremely odd.

The internet is extremely odd, odder still because the Denise is the photo fell madly in love with a boy who was VERY into computers and Denise did not understand this. Now she is sitting her blogging, surrounded by audio equipment, worrying she will lose her iLok key during the move (i’m totally going to lose my iLok key during the move) *see latest Artifiction list (item #2).

I have seen lots of Denises today.

I am thinking a lot about this because this year has been full of change in a five-year-period of change in a decade of change. I instinctively feel that this is the year of a gear switch and then a powerful shove off into a firm direction. I don’t talk much about that. Decisions will be made. I have to be careful and smart. I have to define and I have to have pretty eyes, sure, but without cheap and clumpy mascara.

Denise has always liked shoes. Sometimes you need comfy ones and sometimes it doesn’t matter.

This has nothing to do with the subject at hand. Perhaps I am just tired. Maybe I just needed to do something for me. Maybe I am thinking of the time when, in less than an hour, I have to go back in the closet and put all these shoes away. Maybe I’m wondering what shoes I might wear to make an escape in. Something black and “fade-y” right through the exit door of course I’m running away

Who quotes themself!!!???

Lots of people. People who are confident. People who do whatever they want. And there’s nothing wrong with being that person. It’s just very important to rotate around oneself, rather than what I have been doing since I was the Denise that you see above… in that photo.

Cute, but clueless. I’m pretty sure at somepoint I’ll hit a happy medium and stick there.