Here I sit in Bend, Oregon, listening to some pretty cool jazz music. BF is playing with a tenor duo and drummer. It’s good. I like this venue because there is a place for me to sit in the back and goof off on my computer while listening. I love it.
I am moving to Hawaii in less than two weeks. I am not prepared.
I’m in the middle of so many books. About ten I think. This non-sequitur comes from nowhere, as non-sequiturs are apt to do, the sort of thought that has probably been floating in his brain for a bit and is finally expressed seemingly out of the ether. I am in the middle of so many books too, I tell him. Later I think that I would have finished these books, but I’ve been fucking instead. Quite a lot actually. I could have said that. He would have chuckled. He would have known what I meant. But that response only came just a bit ago when I was reading one of the aforementioned books. Actually, this is a new one. I’m already in the middle of how many books? Maybe five or six instead of ten. Then I found one of my favorites yesterday while sorting through boxes, one I have been wanting to read lately, one I went searching for a few weeks ago and did not find. So this book moves to the top of the pile in the bathroom and will go with me when I’m a passenger in the car with him or have to go somewhere and wait. I will finish it quickly because it has been tickling my brain begging me to read it again. In fact I had to stop myself from buying another copy because I knew this one was nearby. I just had to search further into the boxes. And I did that.
I do not like packing. I do not like moving. It’s worse this time because I already did it once last month and it lasted several weeks. I’m down on stuff, but these are things I did not finish or sort or have to decide whether they go to Hawaii or storage for another country I hope. I have to pack so things can be shipped without breaking. So far this hasn’t been too terribly difficult because the belongings are not breakable. My friend, Noelle, helped me with breakable things at the old house, so I’m hoping not packing breakable things will remain not too terribly difficult.
Okay, I know he got his own post a few days back, but Chet Baker…baby. I’m listening to Chet Baker in Paris. I’m so in love with that voice. Man says Chet made the ladies’ panties wet. You know, I can see it. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective), heroin and cocaine addiction isn’t exactly attractive, so I don’t think he would have done much for my panties, but still. The man can sing and blow a horn. Man told me a joke that goes What does a trumpet player use for birth control? His personality. This may be true, unless one is Chet Baker. He could have the worst personality and that voice and face would go a long way to alleviating any personality flaws…like drug addiction for instance.
Well time to go investigate iphones. Yes, I know. How cliche’ is that to go and get an iphone right when they come out? I don’t care. My contract is up with Sprint and my phone is broken, so I’m going to get an iphone to go with my ipod and macbook. Then I can write all of them without capital letters on the fronts of their names. The computing world’s version of e.e. cummings. Brilliant.
Mary jane red and white, smoke a grape through a pipe. Mary jane white and red, eat a chocolate chip instead.
These days have been filled with beautiful moments. I keep forcing myself to live in the moment because I do not want to lose them. I will miss these moments when they are gone; I do not want to spend them thinking about a time that has not yet arrived.
I am in a room next door to a room where Man is playing music. Good music. Tight. I like it. It’s nice to be able to sit in here and play around on the computer and write while simultaneously hearing music. He’s doing a little piano solo now on keyboards. He’s got it set to an organ sound, plus he’s playing some left handed key bass as well. This appears to be a good and appreciative crowd. Their applause seems genuine and interested. I peeked in and saw some heads bobbing. That’s always a good sign. I just can’t get it when I see people listening to music and they seem not to feel it at all, especially a swinging jazz quartet with an amazing piano player. Actually, all the players sound really good. I’ll go in and listen from there in a few, but being in here is nice too. Mellow.
Right now is one of those moments when I wish I drank coffee and could. I feel like lying down and taking a nap. I feel like I’ve had a sugar crash, but I haven’t eaten much sugar. I’m sleepy. Well this is a crappy post. It’s my pitiful attempt at showing up, but I’m too tired so I think I’ll go take a nap on the indoor outdoor carpet and dream of the sun.
Ah, Chet. How horribly, dysfunctionally sad you are. Were the demons who drove you to infuse your body with toxins the same that inspired you to play? Are you the Sylvia Plath of horn playing? Your voice is like butter, so smooth and creamy, I want to lick your words. Your playing is sensual, lovely, golden. The sounds you create are so perfect, yet everything else about you is a disaster. Would your music be so beautiful if you were not so tortured? I suppose we will never know…
Well, by accident I just discovered full screen mode for typing this blog. Wow. Seriously. Here I am all somber wanting to write and try to expel some angst and I accidentally hit a button and get this. This is cool. It is a nice little distraction.
What is the source of my angst? I am moving to Hawaii. I do not want to leave the man I love. The thing is that if I take him away from the Portland picture, I do not want to be here. He is the only thing I want to stay for. I do not want to leave him. If I thought for a half a second he would want me to go with him wherever he goes, I would do it. But I just don’t think he feels as strongly as I do. I could be wrong. I haven’t asked. It’s one of those things where I don’t know if I want the answer. I will probably say something. But in the meantime, I’m going to Hawaii, at least for now.
Why Hawaii? There are two places on earth I would like to live. One is Australia. One is Europe. I mainly chose Australia because it is an English speaking country. Plus it is far away from wars and whatnot. I’m afraid of wars and whatnot when it comes to my little girl. I want her to be safe. Perhaps I am naive in thinking that because Australia is farther from the wars we will be safer, but this was part of my thinking. We also seriously considered Spain, and actually, I would still consider Spain. I speak enough Spanish I could pick it up, and Milla speaks it as well. But it is so close to the middle east. So for now, I chose Australia. In the meantime, on the way to Australia, I did not want to live in Portland anymore. I have to leave here. For an on the way to Australia place, I chose Hawaii because I have lived there before so it is a known entity. I also know people there. And Milla was accepted to school and got financial aid there. Plus it is sunny all the time and I get seasonal affective disorder in this gray and damp place. So why not, right?
Why not. I did not expect to fall in love and I did not expect to fall in love like this. This feeling is indescribable. It feels like all the silly love songs from fifty years ago were written for me. But it also feels like all the songs written about heartbreak are for me too. It’s such a weird place to be in. I know I have to leave, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving him. This will be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Unequivocally. I do not know how I am going to manage. Well, that isn’t true. I will manage because I always do by putting one foot in front of the other. But I wonder if I’m making a monumental mistake, going there instead of I don’t know what. Maybe he would not be the way he has been with me if I were staying here. He has been wonderful. He has been exactly what I want in a relationship. Even the hard parts. I have learned more about relationships from him than from all the others put together. I have learned more about myself. And then there is the fact he is just plain brilliant and so much a match for me. I am completely blathered. Love. Damn biology. His immune system must jive with mine. His genetic footprint must be what mine needs to propagate. Silliness. Plain silliness. I alternate between love songs and melancholy. I cry. All the time. I am on cloud nine. All the time. What a disaster. I take the steps I need to take to make this move, but I take them reluctantly and after procrastination. I am getting done what I need to get done. Yet I’m going through it in a daze. Is this how it’s supposed to be?
So I write and hope it will help me through. I have been writing, even though the dates on the posts don’t say so. There have been things I cannot share because they do not affect only me. There have been things that have happened he might not want others to know about. I don’t know if anyone he knows reads this, but I do not want to take a chance, so even though I must write about these things, I keep them private. I hope writing will get me through. I hope when I land on that island in the middle of the world’s biggest ocean and my heart is crushed with longing I can write and it will be okay. It’s something anyway.
It’s true. Loving and being loved help you to sleep.
I had to go over to my old neighborhood and pick up a prescription. One of the benefits of being on the Oregon Health Plan is that they assume every move you make is intended to defraud them, so they take steps like only allowing you to get your prescriptions from one place. If you want to change to another place, you have to expect hassles, paperwork, and delays. It’s all fun. Because of this, I needed to drive out to Milwaukie to get my Tamoxifen. Since I was already over there, I drove over to the old house to say hi to my previous neighbor and also to see if there was a ceramic sun I forgot and left at my house.
I could see an immediate difference upon driving up. There used to be a giant Camelia bush by the front walk. It provided shade and lovely flowers in the spring. Gone. An azalea had been completely removed from near the front porch. I could see into the house when the new owner came to the door and the built in bookshelves I had painstakingly built into the living room wall were gone. And the backyard….wow. My neighbor let me peek through her kitchen window to see. Nothing left. All the plantlife in the back was gone. Part of the charm of the yard for me was the abundant plantlife. It kept the yard and house shaded and floral. Nothing like cutting everything down in the middle of summer to ensure it doesn’t grow back, huh? On top of it all, they had thrown away the ceramic sun. Good times.
Oh well. The house isn’t mine anymore. It’s decorated in SE Portland antique store chic. It looks like a Martha Stewart magazine from 10 years ago. It’s annoying. Seeing the house that way, I knew nothing of it was mine anymore. Guess it’s more evidence it is time for me to move on.