Last night: Mishi redid my hair (“what do you want?” “I don’t know, really, whatever, what do you think?…well um, I like Mia Farrow’s Rosemary’s Baby look, or Twiggy’s but they’re short, maybe Shannon Sossoman’s that’s dark, and messy, I like that… but I want blonder like Mary Kate Olson’s, low maintenance, and color but not on her scalp, but it’s so long and mine is short, so I don’t know, what do you think?”). I edited her photos by the window. I’ve been so tired, and lost in my head. Lots of organization required once the salamander leaves. I’ll explain that in a minute.
Today: cappuccino (so much foam, why did I get this!?), hope (in a long list, sum it up as the FUTURE), a new canon (7d DSLR) on its way in the mail!, sunshine, hot, hot belated summer in the bay Area…sexy jazz sax on the cafe stereo, and my sore back from heavy lifting…a mixture of anxiety, minor pains, and happy contentment. What sense in all of those sensations?
But it feels good to be here, and alive, and with my financial aid.
I miss Adam, I can’t help it. Sometimes I think he wasted 4 years of my life. Or has it been 5?
Sometimes I think he’s the best thing I’ve ever known.
Amidst the chaos of the world and my life, my biggest priorities are Mad Men, and seeing a handful of movies at the local theater. Is that wrong?
I tend to be told I’m selfish if I overshadow the immense problems of the world (from the righteous these usually involve them, it reminds me of the guilt-mongers in the Fountainhead: “We’ve tied happiness to guilt”), with the humdrum whimsies of my existence (observing old lady Yvette with her book and cane at the coffee shop, and the white haired lady with the purple high lights and funny bobbing step…and my interested from poetry to photography in all things humdrum).
What is humdrum? (By the way it is no surprise Yvette and purple highlights lady are friends).
Humdrum: [ˈhʌmˌdrʌm] (what a great word, hum, drum, two good things to contemplate)
a monotonous routine, task, or person
[rhyming compound, probably based on hum]
I’m sure that what is passively aggressively hinted at being humdrum in my life is merely outside of the scope of another’s passions, namely an attempt to control others.
I like the little things. And the big things. Depends on the time of the day, and the weather…
Latest GOOD news: Never did I hear from the ADD potential roommate in SOMA. However, I no longer need to couchsurf and pay tons in rent, or move my things three more times from a room to the laundry room to another room or another city….I found out through my landlord that my roommate was moving out. After all of her INSANITY, specifically paranoia, victimhood, passive aggressiveness, and most perturbing inability to clean up after herself and flush the toilet…well she has found a replacement for her wippits-addicted bipolar musician boyfriend, who returned to LA, and is now seeing some dude with long fluffy hair and love handles. When they were in the kitchen making grunting noises that echoed through the basement studio, I tried playing Erroll Garner’s “Misty” on my iphone, but when Radiohead came on it scratchy from the wee little speakers, I decided to make my presence more known: “So if ::ahem:: you’re having sex I’d appreciate it if you would do it somewhere else rather than here where I can hear it”, but all I got in response from the formerly mute new housemate/bear was a loudly whispered “fucking cunt” so needless to say I haven’t had much sleep lately, and I am excited the 30th and the end of a short-lived era are tomorrow. And then even if it is left in massive disarray (enjoyed the whole toilet paper roll in the toilet this morning), the room will be mine to rejuvenate and feng shui the shit out of…
fingers crossed that my belongings are all still in my corner when the pariah leaves for her bear cave or wherever she can continue to spew the misery of her special soul.
I have to go apply for jobs. More soon…
ps. Did I forget to mention the salamander’s dad? A New Jersey comedian. He stayed nearly a week, in the room with me, snoring louder than a garbage disposal, and whispering when she was in the shower: “Um, don’t tell Alyssa but I think you’re really cool…and you’re really pretty” and similar declarations of his affections the last night when she stayed with the stoned bear and left me in the room with the garbage disposal…bitch. There’s no other word for her.
But it’s sunny, and sixties/seventies soft rock is playing on the speakers (“Make it easy on yourse-e-e-elf”), and I’m about to find a job on College St., so off I go, tired but exhilarated, oh the mixture.
I feel good.
Check out- http://meerchant.wordpress.com/2010/07/11/the-fountainhead/
and photos of Margo Moritz at AAU gallery 625 Sutter