I know full well some think of my eccentricities as maybe some sort of duel personality disorder. I guess in a laymen’s way, it is. For my own sanity, I think of this as more of… a sophisticated illness. A sophisticated, scatterbrained illness. Though, maybe that’s a bit of my “grandiose” scheme. On the upside. Let’s not go down the other path, for now.

I’ll admit…

I say things. And claim things. And purport to be able to do things that I sincerely doubt I’ll ever do. I want to! With all my heart I want to. I do want these things that I say to become real. Oft times they’re closer to my hand than you’d think. And this is the god honest truth, though I let these offers and opportunities slip away. Through my own insecurities. It really is a shame. I could be here telling you of more of my accomplishments since last I visited. I’ll stick to what I have and live with it, though.

I moved, as I mentioned, in with my boyfriend.

Into a nice place where the on-site landlord is fantastically distant, if only because of his fragility regarding the english language.

I was featured in a music video for the band Fear Factory

Well, maybe not featured… for a couple of split seconds, though, you can see me freaking out. Thanks in no small part to my friend Mike Pecci, one of the directors, for bringing me onto that project.

Unfortunately, that’s all I have going for now. I wish I could elude to some big project I have coming up, but I can’t. Aside from my plans to enroll in writing classes.

I feel I should post this. No matter how incredibly, unforgivably bland (and scatterbrained, of course) it is.

Keep in mind, I’m well on my way to… well, drunk.

… and of course, overly critical of myself, in any realm.

I’ve moved! I’m in a new place, and it’s with my best friend/boyfriend, so what more could you want? The space is homey and big. Definitely warm feeling… unfortunately, the wall to wall carpeting throughout is literally tearing my face off. Seriously, sloughing off my facial structure daily. It’s near painful, but it shall be dealt with and brute force shall be taken! There is already a spritely, semi-efficient air purifier in the bedroom. Me – 1, Carpet… eh, 15. I’ll assault it with vacuums, steam, potions, voodoo fuckin’ watchamacallit, I don’t care, this thing will BEG for mercy when I’m done. Until I have it baying at my feet like a beaten hound, I’ll be popping decongestants like it’s my job.

So I sit here, congested as fuck, hating it, drunk… that’s my life these days. I can’t even get off my ass to party like I used to, I’ll just sit here and drink and drink and drink. It’s way less depressing than it sounds. I DID get off my ass this weekend, and to party, no less! It was rather intense. There were fire trucks, power outages, karaoke, booty poppin’ (on my part, I hear I was the only one… shush). I truly excel in making an ass out of myself. I’ve come to accept that, and I think that’s awesome. I can finally accept that I am an awkward, ridiculous, out of this world weirdo and I’m all about it. That’s a step in the right direction. Or into the gutter, but we’ll see. Either way, fun times.

On that note, I’m gonna eat melted chocolate ice cream and blow bubbles in my cheap shiraz, giggling to myself about how my sneezes remind me of kittens.

Within a month, it seems a lot has changed. In reality it hasn’t, but when you’ve gotten accustomed to a life that’s become tragically dull in comparison to years past, a new flavor coffee in the mornings could seem rather exciting. Thankfully, a couple bigger changes occurred (though blueberry might have replaced coconut as my flavor of choice). For one, I’m moving. I’ve been in the same apartment in downtown Salem for a year come October, and it’s time to leave. I love and hate the old charm of this house. Filled with character? Absolutely. Filled with bugs and other vermin? It’s possible. Filled with awkward, passive hostility between owner and tenant? Absolutely. Among a few other motivators (laundry, parking, fucking Halloween is coming…), things have gotten a bit too tense for my liking. Luckily, I’ve found a place nearby yet far enough away that I’ll soon call home. I will say that I’ll miss the lovely wallpaper.

For a few months, I was worried that I may have an illness relating to an allergy to gluten, which is found in breads, pasta, baked goods, soy sauce… lots of things. For weeks they poked and prodded me, took many vials of blood, made me drink this awful paste and took pictures of my innards and sent me off to wait. Thankfully, I’m disease free… but I still don’t know what the fuck is up with my insides. I’m not happy that the things I love (food and drink) are making me feel so sick, but I’ve grown accustomed, and kind of fond of, salads. Which isn’t such a bad thing, I guess. Boring, but not bad. More room for wine…
While on the table, drinking cups and cups of stale fruit flavored sludge, the nurses questioned me about the few tattoos I have now. Where did I get them? Did it hurt, and how much? Were they expensive? It was kind of sweet, they seemed so interested and excited, as if they were unaccustomed to something so common these days. Maybe I was drunk on the Barium, or maybe they were being overly friendly knowing how uncomfortable, grossed out, and near the point of vomiting I was while lying there. I’d say it helped my nerves.

I’ve got a new friend, named Greta. She sits on my shoulder, hiding behind my hair. She’s taken the place of the unfortunate cat that lived behind my ear, laid to rest by Greta’s black tail.

Do you know how hard it is to take an adequate picture of a tattoo on the back of your neck with the camera on your touch screen phone? Probably about as hard as you’d think.
She’s a big girl. Bigger than I had anticipated, but that’s fine by me. I’m happy to have her there. I’d like to give her some friends some day. I wonder what my hairdresser will say when she sees some of my hair shaved off to make way for her…

I’m gearing up to get tattooed in October, specifically getting a sleeve started. I’m extremely excited about all this as it’s been three years since I’ve gotten a proper tattoo. My last venture was, of course, Menry the Drunken Cat that I got (please note: while drunk) in my friend’s kitchen behind my ear. That shall soon be covered with blackberries and bumble bees. I’m realizing that’s a very summery concept… but then, I do appreciate some summer aesthetics. It works. I love tattoos with an old world illustration feel to them, and that’s what I’d like for this one.
Actually, just today I stumbled upon an artist who does fantastic illustration that I felt I needed to share. I was googling something tattoo related, and he came up – Dan Hillier. I love the old book-ish style he has, it’s probably a style and form I admire most. Of course, he adds some great twists.

I’ve spent a great deal of time lately on art blogs and such. I’ll post more findings, but for now I should be off to bed, even it it is in vain. At least I have my putrid winged companion.

UPDATE: It’s a fly.

I’ve realized that I’m still a bit in awe of the concept of laying eggs. First off, I adore birds. The word “precious” immediately comes to mind, but not in the middle aged spoiled housewife sort of way… in the very sincere way a small child would think of her tea set or dolls. They’re so fragile, yet resilient and hardy. Their little bodies and tiny hollow bones, flouncing about puddles and bits of grain. I can’t imagine such a delicate creature, excreting hard, calcified orbs that came together bit by bit amidst their miniscule innards. And why am I not as curious about it when it comes to lizards? Why do they seem more fit? Still mysterious, but in different ways. The whole act of giving birth is as a whole so primal in nature. Some people see the beauty in it, I’m yet to get there. I likely never will. If ever the wave of maternal necessity comes over me, I’ll be more likely to adopt. At any rate, much respect for birds… though I do sometimes feel guilty for eating their would be young.

A note on cats…

Not the first time I’ve done this, but this week I was joined in a house by six cats. My foster family had gone away on vacation and with poor timing, used vacation days, I was unable to join them as I have in years past. This made me, for the second year in a row, the prime candidate to take care of they six cats they have combined, all under one roof. One, thankfully, air conditioned roof with newly renovated second floor deck. Did I mention I am very allergic to cats? A small price to pay to have an entire house to myself for a week. No parties or anything extreme, just relaxation and some form of zen, I suppose.

That’s not to say there was no socialization on my part. In fact, a friend’s touring band came around and stayed a night. Which was incredibly nice, as I hardly see him at all. Living on the other side of the country and all that kind of gets in the way of hang outs. We had a big breakfast and walked around Salem for a bit before they were on their merry way.

I was let down by one tattoo artist and sought out another who I’m greatly looking forward to getting a sleeve from.
I slept in an air conditioned room
I went to a bike race around the Salem Common. My friend’s boyfriend won. We drank sangria
I made sangria and guacamole and laid out in a bikini on the deck then made my boyfriend take my drunk ass to the beach to chase seagulls got drunk at the 99 with a friend
I got drunk by myself (well, with cats)
I got drunk by myself again
I almost died of shit and piss inhalation from cleaning out litter boxes used by six cats for half a week
There were many bouts of uncontrollable sneezing
Had a couple minor panic attacks at work
Almost flipped out at someone at work
I stayed up waaaaay late after a nice evening with a friend and her husband where I drank espresso probably a bit later than was wise for me.

It was a great week.

No cats died, nor did the cops come to the house. The family seemed very pleased with all this.

I’m still here. Taking advantage of the air conditioning, the cable, and the food I bought that I feel I should eat up before leaving.

In this, I feel justified not being at the beach. That fact alone is a tad depressing…

Right now, it’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to sit up – well, hunched over a laptop resting on a big pillow as a make-shift desk, as per usual. I was up all night keeping company the ghosts I’m convinced inhabit my room along with me. Hot, sweaty, and in great pain. It’s not all that dramatic, more pathetic than anything.

Mostly, all this intensity may come from a fever. Or the cold medicine high that usually leaves me giggling and weak – this time making all around me far more whimsical.

I washed and sliced these strawberries. I cut and ripped apart that peach, as if a failing organ in my hand, and I remembered my long lost dream of being a forensic pathologist. Both organic things – flesh and fruit. Still, not always an extremely obvious connection though I feel it should be.

I had read day in and day out on the subject. I was fascinated by the way the human body works and where it fails, how could anyone not be? An amazing machine, born of single celled organisms. To be able to dissect and analyze would be the greatest privilege, I think. Unfortunately, I never trusted myself to take such a courageous leap into the world of medicine. What if I misread? Cross-contamination? There are so many ways a specimen can be damaged. Could I deal with that kind of pressure? The mortality? The realization that, in essence, I’m hacking away at a life that was somehow lost? How does one keep on track and not lose sight of the task at hand. These days, I’m sure I could. I chalk it up to being unreasonable to make such a life changing decision at such a young age but, really, I just had to grow a pair. Maybe someday I’ll get to it.

Until then, I’ll sit here – delirious – prying apart bits of fruit, thinking about a would-be failed profession.