holiday blues

And a time to fly by the seat of your pants

image

Nostradamus, band we crashed with, killing it on stage. Fave song: "You'd think by now we'd have learned how to treat other people" (slight paraphrase)

12.19.15
I had weekend plans, reasons to stay, excuses, the reality that I went through surgery like two weeks ago and voilĂ , I’m still here in Tallahassee seeing an awesome slew of punk bands and finally, finally far enough away for my brain to be quiet.

Last Saturday I saw this poet Jake read from his book of essays Blue Collar Nomad at the Civic Media Center. He had this line, and I don’t remember if it was in the essays or in one of his introductions, about moving when he felt he needed to move. There will always be reasons not to, but sometimes you just have to…go.

Of course I know how to choose path over hearth. I know how to live on passion and sky, more basic to me than rice. How do you explain to someone who hasn’t felt the tremble in their bones, the itch on the bottom of their feet? Some things are necessary.

image

image

Fire & friends & music. I met Nana Grizol and Toby Foster and a bunch of cool people and dogs. My friend Kevin and I danced like hooligans. A night that won’t soon be forgotten.

image

"Sign it to my sort of girlfriend"

Before leaving Tallahassee we stopped at The Black Dog Cafe and I got the best London Fog I’ve ever encountered in the States — when in doubt, go with the Zeppelin reference –, I took a lot of pictures of the lake and bought yarn at Yarn Therapy for Ariel and Brittany’s Christmas presents.

image

.
.
.

12/29/15
Everything got too hectic for me to finish this blog in the fervor of purpose where I started. Mum was miffed at me for leaving town spur of the moment, and then I predictably got sick, whether from sleeping in a punk house without any heat two weeks after having surgery or because my brother gave me his flu. So I'm on this green drink and hot tea and lemon water and lots of fruits and vegetables cleanse to keep from having anything inside of me that can turn into mucus. Yes, that sounds gross. It's working. I'm alive, and I'm taking good care of myself. I'm just also trying to remind myself that books are as good a way to travel as cars, as I have nowhere to go and no money to go with and am no better at sitting still.

The holidays happened. I'm grateful my loved ones are alive and well. My brother left for his semester abroad in Italy on the 27th, and my mother leaves for India tomorrow. I love my family, very very much, but I also missed my friend-family more this past week than I can say.

I've been crocheting a lot.

image

I think somehow I know how to make things special with my friends. The time with my family went to running errands, transferring my mom’s music onto her new phone, and the like. But my brother and I are starting a vlog correspondence, so I may see more of him than I did before.

Now the year is almost over. I’m oddly superstitious about New Year’s, in a way I can’t say I am about anything else. I have to have something to show for the year, and some ritual to invoke the new. But, honestly, I got top surgery, which was top of my to-do list, and that’s FANTASTIC. 2015 is the year I finally got top surgery, met Ariel and Kevin, got a lot closer with Ali and Brittany. My half-finished Goodreads list and my guilt complex will keep. I’m so grateful for my friend-family and for having a body that I enjoy living in now.

This mood of movement still grips me, a certainty that I’m best in motion, dancing or on a bus. 2016 needs to be the year when I figure out how to tour with my poetry, how to get the work done, and then play like mad. I’m sure I’ll post a goals list in a few days. I promise, for my own sake, it will be more realistic than 2015’s.

Sometimes we just need to start the journey, to feel the dirt beneath our toes…Thursday’s child has far to go….

But sometimes (now) I need to be realistic, to buckle down and get the work done, to pay the bills and live in an actual house with heating. There isn’t a real conclusion here.

I leave you on a book recommendation: I tore through Clementine Von Radic’s new collection, Dream Girl, that weekend in Tallahassee and have been trying to get everyone to read it since. I’ll do a proper review when Brittany gets done reading, but just know, Clementine tore me open and rebuilt me with those poems in the best way possible.

image

My secret garden, home.

Advertisements