Taste the Rainbow

It took preparing for a trip to Florida to prove to me that I have plenty of summer clothes. Black has been the dominant shade for the past, oh, four months and I have come to love it. I was sure that my summer was going to be a dark one, but I couldn't see black passing in Boca Grande. Reading over the hotel's dress-code made me reconsider my lack of color (it also made me gag): "April 5, 2010 to June 2010, gentlemen should wear dress slacks and collared shirts for dinner. A jacket or tie is not required. Ladies apparel should always be comparable to the gentlemen such as blouses, skirts or slacks. Jeans, shorts or tank tops are not permitted for dinner;" "Whites required;" "Resort casual..."

Anyway, there is no denying that this calls for color:

And this too:

And so, I was forced to do laundry. I popped the quarters and what I uncovered was a treasure trove of surprising splashes of colors and pastels. I was shocked by the profusion of cheerful "island wear" hanging on my shower-curtain rod. Yellow! Turquoise! Pink! Airy, white blouses and skirts! My wardrobe isn't gloomy after all!

Watch out Boca and watch out summer!

Practical Resolutions

are successful.

My volunteer work is going really well. My coordinator keeps telling me that I'm doing a great job and have been thorough with taking notes on applicants and with asking questions. I have only encountered one hostile applicant at this point. Apparently there are more to come. I like this work for a variety of reasons. First of all, I am aware of the need for volunteers in dog rescue, especially when it comes to specific and in-demand dogs. The northwest has the highest concentration of Mini Aussie breeders in the nation. I bought my dog from a breeder two years ago and though I am conflicted with my decision and would never buy again, I feel that I lucked out with my pup. I also went into it with breed experience which many people do not. I also went into it with a naiveté in regards to buying from breeders with this particular type of dog. The return rate on Miniature Australian Shepherds is extremely high and as far as I can tell at this point, 100% are inhumane in some way or another. I wouldn't go so far as to say that all breeders are bad, but it seems that with this breed they are.

The detail-oriented work is also enjoyable. I get a laugh out of stupid people who don't know how to fill out simple applications or who do not know the difference between their, there, and they're, but that's just my pretentious side. We all make grammatical mistakes, right? Honestly, only 90% of applications come to me as complete. I spend a lot of time sending generic responses which gently tell the applicant that he or she has done a "C" job on their application. HOW HARD IS IT? You have 15 dogs...and you want another...?

I was able to join my coordinator yesterday in sending off an adopted dog. Her name was Fancy and she was a tough placement. She spent the first two years of her life in a crate, solely for breeding purposes. She had extreme social anxiety, was afraid of most humans and both of her back legs were bowed. When she was rescued two years ago she couldn't even walk. When Fancy walked into the room where her eventual adopter was, the two connected and Fancy was immediately attached. It was encouraging to see the pay-off of what I am doing.

This has been a rewarding addition to my life. Now it's time to make curry.

And His Fingers go, "Click, Click, Click."

A couple of weeks ago, G- and I were talking over the kitchen table. She had just returned from a play-date and was telling me about how lousy it was.

G: "I just don't like meeting people, you know? I just wish...that you could walk up to someone and say 'hi' and you're friends, you know?"

Me: "I know exactly what you mean. It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes you meet someone and it's easy. I wish it could be easy with everyone."

G: "Yes! I know!"

I have a new friend.

He texts me, lets me borrow music and books, and we have things to talk about.

I really like him. It's been a long time since someone has pursued me for a friendship and though I wasn't looking for a new friend, it is refreshing to know that I am a person that certain people would like to know.

Part of me worries. The last time I made a friend this way, I abandoned him because I was abandoned by someone else. He was in the middle and I could not handle it.

I hope my new friend never feels in the middle, if there is ever a middle to be in. Or maybe I should hope that I never view him as being in the middle.

"July Flame" is on repeat, thanks to him.

G- has a new friend too.

I Went and Felt the Illinoise!

...and I liked it.

I'm trying not to be too pushy, but after spending a few days in Illinois, I have come even closer to an unflinching decision that, yes I do want to move. More than ever before in my life, I feel that soon I am going to need a change. Staying here is wrong. Chicago makes sense. But, you've never been! No matter. All the better, chum.

J-'s friend lives in a thriving artsy neighborhood, just 10 minutes shy of downtown, and has offered to aid in our apartment search. In fact, his eyes (my god, those eyes!), glittered even more when I not-so-slyly encouraged J- to spill our possible plans to move within the next year. J- was grateful for my pushiness, in the end. 

The midwest is different. Forgive me for being trite.

At a supermarket named "Logli's" J-'s mom sent us on a search for Agave Nectar, a staple product of mine. 

J-: "Hi, we're looking for Agave."

Employee: "Huugh?" She lifts one eyebrow and one half of her upper lip in perfect, theatrical union.

I take the grocery stores in Seattle for granted. I do love you, Seattle and I'll probably be back, but I think we should spend some time apart. 

I would never tell Seattle this, but I think she's holding me back right now. She has become too safe.

The city of Chicago is a metropolis and I'm sure to find Nutritional Yeast, Tempeh, and Agave Nectar with little trouble. I know how to make friends and I know how to handle cities on my own. There is a strong and inspired music scene. There is weather I have no idea how to prepare for, but my dad did get me snow boots. At least my feet will be warm. Barefoot in the summer. Easy.

It's almost time to go.

...It's Serious

As I read "Girlfriend in A Comma" I, yet again, felt the panic of being almost 25 and without a career. Career can mean so many things and apparently it means something quite specific to me because just a few weeks ago I was trying to convince myself that nannying is indeed a career, yet here I am being skeptical and worried again. 

This book frightened me, not because it was semi-apocalyptic, but because it told a story about several friends who grow old, but not up, and contribute virtually nothing of significance to the world. I don't want to be 35 and clueless as to what I want to do with my life. I don't want to live a little life. I'm being narcissistic, I know, and I'm missing the point (or one of many) of the book. This life, my life, is not about me, but rather about questioning and aiding in a greater cause, or so says Coupland. This "greater cause" used to be of the Christian Evangelical kind, but I no longer wish to convert people. 

Knowing that my memory blankets the next twenty generations is not what I want. I just want to create and create and create and never stop. I don't necessarily want people to see what I'm creating either. Narcissism, again. Do I need to show my art to people in order for it to be significant, for it to mean something? I'd like to think not.

Acceptance

Maybe my vocation is platinum. 

Maybe it's what I want and maybe I shouldn't care what it looks like on surveys and tax-returns.

Maybe...

I've Done It Again

Stupid, stupid me. What the hell was I thinking? I need to take better care of myself. That's all I'm going to say.

Should I start over again? Should I go to a place that scares the shit out of me? Sell everything? Become a live-in in say, *.*.*.?