In my dream Kevin the clarinet player and I were teaching circus classes in a warehouse side by side Rusty and the Hazard Factory and a passal of punk brass band performers. We played baseball with the kids in the field outside. Karl had dyed his hair in candy corn orange, white and yellow stripes. He had come down because he was going to start working with the Factory. When it was time for the band to leave and the convertible still wasn't fixed they rigged it together with bicycle stuff and pedaled it away, playing 'Lume, Lume' as they went.

Later in the dream Karl and Amy gave me a ride home and explained the reason why Kevin R. doesn't talk to me anymore is that he spent $250 on a calling card once and I never gave him dough for it. "That's what this is about?" I asked, incredulous. "Money?" We talked it out, with Karl giving me good advice and Amy listening offering insight. It was wonderful to have them to talk to. He had told them that he saw me on Third Avenue the other day, and said he had 'flipped that bitch off.'

But that isn't what happened, is it? I really did see Kevin the other day on Third Avenue. He smirked at me, and I winked at him, and we both kept walking. Him? Oh, that's just some guy I used to know.

Celebrate whatever today is for you, darlings. No reason, but for the sun and the beautiful full moon tonight. Celebrate, clink your glasses together and hug someone close. No special mark on the calendar, no anniversary, no holiday.


Celebrate, darlings.

Reminder! THIS WEDNESDAY Jenna debuts with the lovely and talented Ms.Charlie Cakes as co-Quiz Mistress on Quiz Night at Georgetown Liquor! Think you know frivolous minutia, do you? Throw your team into the competition for fame! For glory! And maybe for BEER!

Don't miss out on Quiz Mistress Charlie's Farewell Bash costume contest! I've got a great bag of quiz tricks all ready for my first night. It's going to be a scream! FREE entry and CASH prizes, yadda yadda-- show me your big beautiful brain!


Quiz Night featuring Jenna & Charlie
Time:8:30PM Wednesday, December 2nd
Location: Georgetown Liquor Co.- 5501 Airport Way, Seattle, WA 98108-2213, around the back

http://georgetownliquorcompany.com/location.html



++
Also, on the next night rest your brain and come fancy dancing:

Thursday 12/3/09
URBAN SQUARE DANCE w/
THE TALL BOYS
8:30p-11:00p Dance
Century Ballroom, 12th & Pine
http://www.centuryballroom.com/

21+
$7

Click here to Get Out!

Most of the time the train trip South is on the Cascade Starlight, a comfy mash of tourist and commuter train where folks walk around in their socks and make casual conversation with their neighbors. For the massive flood of holiday travel, though, they break out the old Amtrak people-haulers: huge chrome machines that are meant to carry loved ones from one place to another.

I worried as the train pulled out of Seattle. Bairosen Manor has never been empty with only thoughtful visitors to entertain and feed Ursula. Will she be all right? Will she burn the house down? I figured I had better stop fretting or I would sour my stomach for Thanksgiving dinner, a few hours down the track in Portland.

Ursula likes to be up high

I've run into good friends on the train, Noah once, and Kim this time, though we were too engaged in our own thoughts to make conversation. I worked hard to reset my mind on the way South. I've traveled this way so many times. I love the trip through the Nisqually Valley, hugging the coast and seeing the graffiti that only those in train yards see. Train travel is witness to a spectrum of society from the backyards of abject poverty and tent cities hugged up under overpasses to the manufactured old-town of the murals of Centralia. It is an excellent way to gain perspective and reset. And besides, the view is pretty.

Josh and Hana met me at the station and we went back to their lovely Manse for dinner. Josh had a bird to roast and we had beans, yams, two kinds of stuffing, white wine for Josh and I and eggnog for Hana. A feast! I couldn't have asked for a better family with which to spend the holiday. It's been a rough year for them, and truth be told I needed them as much as they needed me. I am far away from my blood these days, and what I had worked so hard to be my family is not. We make our own love, our support, and our connections. As the train pulled out into the grey Seattle Thanksgiving morning, I thought to myself: this is my family, as I choose it. My friends that are there for me are my family now.

Hana braids my hair

Josh and Hana at the table

Turkey dinner self-portrait with Hana and Josh holding cinnamon

Hana gives Sadie Dog some turkey for dinner

On Friday we took advantage of a sunbreak to head East to the Deschutes River for some hiking. Perfect! I had worn my new Sorel boots that I am breaking in for Winter shenanigans and really wanted to go hiking and walking. The river valley smelled like Vicks Vap-O rub for all the delicious sage on the hillsides. We couldn't have asked for a prettier day, and Hana and I tossed off our sweaters in the light. We walked for miles in the sun, on the hillside by the river. Of course Hana had to stick a rock in every hole and jump in every puddle, so our walk was leisurely and fun, lead in the zen way of an old dog and a seven-year-old.

Josh, Hana and Sadie

The three of us

It was wonderful to bond with Hana, and to be with the wisdom and hilarity of my old friend Josh. I learned a lot about wolves. Hana is going through a wolf and cheetah phase. Josh and I got to explain what Anarchism is to a seven-year-old.
"Why don't they want rules, Daddy?"
"Well you know, Hana," he asks, "if you saw a house on fire, with a kitten in the window, do you need a law to make you save the kitten?"
"No Daddy," says Hana, "of course I'd save the kitten without a law."
"Anarchists, honey," say I, "want to live their lives like that. They believe they can make the right decisions without a law."
We then proceeded to tell her that, no, she can't blow up the stupid corporate billboard, but we could maybe culture jam it a bit. Make it funny. That one is getting a slingshot for Christmas.

Josh and Hana

A trip South would be remiss without stopping to see my favorite Monster, so Saturday night found me hip-deep in local beer and film noir. And, of course, chickens:

Eric at the coop

We were rampantly creative, what with all the things I have to think of and create for the coming year. There were beautiful quiz questions and keen insight, terrific Mexican food, wisdom, new friends, cross-legged adventures sitting on the Orca Book Store floor, coffee, new music and hours of hilarity. And what do Hardwarians do on their vacation? They go to the local Olympia wonderful hardware store, of course! We couldn't get away without a new set of titanium bits:

Eric and I at the hardware store

It is the season for giving. Despite my jaded old-lady-ism, I give. I give because I am in love with this life for good or ill. I give because I love, though those I give to may not love me. I give when it hurts me to do so.

I encourage you to do the same. Give. Give where you think you shouldn't, or you can't. Your time, your heart, your means. Give.


Give.




Your humble narrator on the Deschutes

Ralph on piano, Janice & Dr Teeth and Gonzo intro are just extra.

http://www.youtube.com/user/MuppetsStudio#p/c/C9E4DEEA577A3A79/0/tgbNymZ7vqY

So I finally got around to getting those snow boots I've been thinking about all year and thought I'd break them in a little. I took out the ultra-fluffy liners and wore them out running errands. A little roomy, I thought at first, but not unmanageable. Probably you're supposed to wear fat socks or something.

Now I know what it's like walking on the moon, if my moon boots are huge heavy stiff Sorels and the moon looks like the QFC on Rainier. The verdict: you're supposed to take the liners out and wash them, I think, but you're not supposed to wear them like that. Sheesh.

++
My playlist promises are stacking up-- I'm glad to finally have some headphone hours in my warm flat with Ursula, quiet and still in my lap at last.

The most disturbing scene of Hal Ashby's Being There was-- for me, anyway-- when Peter Sellers and Shirley MacLaine are in the car and the cartoon "Basketball Jones" comes on. Man, I haven't seen Tyrone Shoelaces since I was a little kid. What follows is an unflinching stare into the face the1970's that was the first of many moments in the movie that were hard to watch. Not because they are poor cinematic quality, quite the opposite. The situation is so absurd and the tension created simply by long, uncut shots and anticipating the game to be up is teeth-grindingly maddening. I suppose that is what makes it such a terrific flick. That, and that Shirley sure was a looker, wasn't she? At any rate the satire and politics are spot on. I can't believe it took me so long to see this.

Next up is the recent debt documentary Maxed Out: Hard Times, Easy Credit and the Era of Predatory Lenders, which I think I put off because of my nose-wrinkling disappointment with a fair number of socio-economic documentaries. I dig movies and I love social justice, and therefore one too many times I've been duped into another screeching zealot of a film following the same sophomoric formula of injustice-dehumanize-injustice-ray of hope- call to action plot, in the vain hope that maybe this time things will be different. Yeah, and he only hits you because he loves you, lady.

Luckily every once in a while a movie like Maxed Out or The Corporation comes along that while yes, they do deal with exploit and life-sucking depressing abuses of money and power, they're actually pretty good movies as well. I have to confess up front that I was initially impressed with their efficient use of David Bowie and Queen's "Under Pressure," a song I've loved my whole life. The movie itself is simple and elegant. It takes a great perspective on an extremely complicated issue and sticks to just a couple of stories. It is slanted against big business but it is not terribly ham-fisted, which is refreshing. There was some "well, duh," mostly because it's not exactly a surprise that credit card companies exploit the poor, the stupid, the rich, the educated, and everyone else in between, but I was surprised to hear that Cash America, a strip-mall payday loan outfit, is funded by Wells Fargo. There is no consistent narrator, instead it is a string of vignettes. The stories unfold slowly but thoroughly. Little gems and bits of information that tell a little more of the story were peppered throughout the film.

Of course it did make me want to cut up my credit card, but hey, maybe that's not such a bad idea anyway.


++
It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming let me out
Pray tomorrow - high higher
Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don't work
Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn
...
Can't we give ourselves one more chance
Why can't we give love that one more chance
...
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure

Last night I walked to Das Haus from Emma's burlesque recital at the Oddfellows Hall in the rain. I walked the path I used to walk when first I moved here in 1996 and I lived on 14th & Pine. Though the dark season withers me these days I still feel a fondness for the winter and fall in Seattle. I moved here in December, and I came back for good in October. I fell in love with Seattle in the dark season and sometimes, like last night, I am in love again with the long, heavy black night and sodium lights on the street, orange leaves in my path and rain on my chin. Saturday night is full of promise; I am walking around places I know and love to meet my friends, to laugh and dream our world into being.

Haiku for the mum on my porch:

Oh mum! Don't you know?
It's November, time for sleep.
Still, your mighty bloom.



Operation Gingerbread was a resounding success! I adapted the recipe for dairy free and though the recipe called for Guinness I used New Belgium 1554. The results are excellent: moist, hearty to the teeth with a complex, spicy finish. I must say I like wildly spicy spice cakes, though, and this particular recipe calls for a spiced anglaise that would up the spicy-ness (I haven't figured out how to adapt it to dairy free yet) I think I would still bump the clove and ginger a bit. I also made vegan, gluten-free gingerbread cupcakes with an orange-citrus frosting for my pretty Naomi-san and they turned out amazing! I used a recipe from the book Vegan Cupcakes Take Over The World, a book that came highly recommended and I will add to my permanent cookbook collection soon!


Ginger snacks


Glory, glory, this weekend I am too busy living to write.

Holy brass bands and acrobatics, Get Out! fans, tonight is a ripe plum of awesome ready to be plucked! I'll make it short and sweet:

Tonight at the Triple Door: Cornucopia Cabaret, featuring Mark Pickerel and his Praying Hands, El Vez, NANDA, and Poppy Daze of the Aerialistas among a bill of astonishing talent. It gets better: this awesome show is only $15 and is a benefit for the Treehouse youth in foster care's "Little Wishes Program" that funds dance and music lessons for kids. El Vez, aerialists, acrobaticalists AND social justice? I may faint. Doors at 8.

Tonight at the Tractor Tavern: local jazz genius sextet Reptet's vinyl release party, featuring Orkestar Zirkonium and a passle of other talent. An Orkestar Zirkonium shot with a Reptet chaser will always tighten your screw. Only $8. Doors at 9.



Click here to Get Out!

Trivia night was a scream, as always. The team I was on took 1st and there was an epic dance-off battle for 2nd, 3rd & 4th. I've also learned that on my Quiz Mistress co-pilot night, December 2, there will also be a costume contest! Good thing I always have one or two hanging around in case of a costume-requiring emergency.

Dreamed I was pregnant and had apparently decided to have the baby. I had to tell my Grandmother, who helpfully pointed out that I am not married (dammit! What gave me away, Gramma?), and I had to tell the father, a nice man I did not recognize from waking life. He was a musician that played with the Toy Boats. He was kind and very accepting of the situation though we were not a couple, and I remember thinking how interesting it was to share such a huge responsibility with someone. For good or for ill, for the boring, disastrous, the beautiful-- all of it at least partly given over to someone else, some unpredictable set of experiences full of threat and promise.

I love that at night I get to go somewhere and do stuff I'll never ever do in real life.

I'm ridiculously excited about staying in town this weekend. I'm really looking forward to trying that new gingerbread recipe, visiting with out-of-town pals, and spending some quality time in my headphones. After that it's back on the train to PDX to spend Turkey Day with Josh and little Hana, having our tiny dinner party then sipping Scotch and climbing trees and laughing a lot with old friends. I can't wait to see them. I think I'll make stuffing with rosemary bread and apples, and gingerbread if this recipe works out. I keep thinking that any week now my social calendar will settle down but it hasn't yet. There's a beautiful, warm and colorful garden of stuff to do between here and 2010: Portland, Oklahoma, Olympia, Mexico, Seattle shenanigans; yoga, Trivia Night, new babies to meet, music to listen to, birthdays, spice bread to bake, gifts to make...


...boom de yada boom de yada, boom de yada boom de yada...

I do believe I can report with confidence that, as settles Luke and I's conversation, you can in fact read in dreams. Or I can, anyway. There was some question about if you could or not because of right brain/left brain functions and what happens up there when you are unconscious, but just a little while ago I was dealing with a car in my dream that had a console display and I clearly read the word 'dynamite'. So there you have it.

I went to bed six hours ago and here I am awake. It chagrins me no end that I am again untangling the weird relationships with sleep and food that are so systemic of the Anguish Diet™ right now, when the season calls for a celebration of sharing food and cozy hibernation. I was finally driven to the grocery store yesterday because I got sick of my pathetic empty fridge looking like a college bachelor lived here sometimes, only to discover that I could not muster the necessary give-a-fuck to get the things to make gingerbread even though I wanted to. Then when I got there, determined to at least come home with some kale and a six pack or something, for pity's sake, I realized how weird it is to wander around in what is essentially temple for food when I haven't felt hungry for weeks. Of course it all gets worse when I start reading labels to make choices that are grown or made as nearby as possible, that are the least saddled with preservatives, and trying to justify having to get a plastic bag because I didn't have enough bags with me with the fact that I walked the mile and a half to and from the store and the energy I saved by not driving should be good for something, right? Sheesh.

I love sleep and I miss it. Despite that and studious efforts to clobber myself into unconsciousness I still find myself cluttered in anxiety dreams and driven awake at 4:30 in the morning. I'll open my eyes to find my mind whirring like a machine, or wake up angry as hell, and either way unable to sleep anymore. I wake up even before Ursula, who has determined that since I'm up anyway I could do a lot worse than get her breakfast. It makes me treasure the nights where my sleep is comforted and uneventful, and my dreams are little more than entertaining vignettes, ethereal and meaningless. Alas though, not last night. Last night I dreamed about Portland, which makes a bit of sense as I have decided to visit my friends Josh and Hana there for Thanksgiving.

My dream was plagued with me missing trains and being trapped in cars with unfamiliar, unpredictable dogs and that car with the cryptic console. It sat powered off in the driveway when I happened past it, and I noticed the green words on the dash. The vehicle was recording information on what was around it, which included a nearby tree house that neither my friend William, whose house we were at, nor I had noticed in the back yard. In the tree house were toys and dolls that were a hundred years old. There was also a box of old explosives, which at first the car recognized as diatomaceous chalk and sawdust but after a moment put it together and blinked that chilling word: dynamite. I've long regarded driving and cars in my dreams as manifestations of anxiety. I'm usually out of control in some way: trying to drive in water, or on Dr. Suess-esque streets, or from the back seat or something. This time the vehicle had an agenda. I'm used to feeling out of control, which is bad enough, but to have to deal with a robot car that now knows of an arsenal is a new one. How will our heroine get out of this? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode! I awoke to the wind howling outside.

Mark your calendars! December 2, Wednesday night, I debut with Ms. Charlie Cakes as co-Quiz Mistress on Quiz Night at Georgetown Liquor! Think you know frivolous minutia, do you? Throw your team into the competition for fame! For glory! And maybe for BEER!

FREE entry and CASH prizes, yadda yadda-- show me your big beautiful brain!


Quiz Night featuring Jenna & Charlie
Time:8:30PM Wednesday, December 2nd
Location: Georgetown Liquor Co.- 5501 Airport Way, Seattle, WA 98108-2213, around the back

http://georgetownliquorcompany.com/location.html

My Uncle Jerry looks so sharp in his uniform. I was startled at how much my handsome young cousin Jeremy looks like him in his own Marine portrait, twenty years later. Jeremy’s brother, my cousin closest to me in age, is right now in the grit and the heat of Afghanistan. I think about you every day, Josh.

It’s no secret that I marched against this endless war. I am decided that I do not and cannot support it, and so actively resist it in my own way. I bring the baffling costumes of frivolity to the streets to protest with laughter and music what I cannot abide. I also understand that this war is the same as every war; people have been fighting for resources as long as there have been resources to fight over. Though the reasons sicken me I understand why there is a fight, and I try very hard to understand why you choose to join it. Though I disagree with what you have to say, I will defend to the death your right to say it*, as you have for me. And I am so proud of you and your hard work. All of you.

My Grandfather, may he rest in peace, looking dashing in his Air Force pilot’s uniform before he left for Korea; J. Sid and Thom that took their They Might Be Giants tapes and particular brand of hilarity with them to Iraq; Eric C., the hottest Anarchist to ever grace the deck of a naval vessel; Eric A. and his Triumph Taco; PFC Tim; Kevin C.;  Blayke H., you old sheep-lovin' maniac; my beloved Uncle and cousins; of course Zach, without whom there would be a gaping Zach-sized hole in my world; and everyone else I care about that I didn’t name who serves in the military-- you know who you are.

You know I hate the sin. Today I honor the military men and women that are important to me, and your fellow soldiers. Thank you for your service.

Please know that I love you, and I am proud of you, and I am so grateful for you.








*Paraphrase from Evelyn Beatrice Hall

It occurs to me that for all my love of brain chemistry and social science it makes absolutely no difference when I am in thrall. "Ah yes," says the little chemist in my head, her hair tightly bound and glasses perched on her nose, "you are building white matter. The brain is currently firing neurons and creating chemical connections in a way that didn't exist before. The way you think and feel about these things is changing now, and in the future will have different chemical reactions and a more sophisticated set of biochemical associations." Thank you, nice science lady. Now when can I shut this shit off and get some sleep?

Thank goodness for inspired, inspiring friends. I've got Val and Carissa at yoga, where after a great class we sit around the studio and talk fashion and socio-economics. You ladies rule. Then yesterday my dear friend Jenny, in town from San Fransisco, invited me out for a walk. She showed up just in time to catch the tail end of a conversation with my beloved Mearcairs on how efficient it would be if we could run cars on injustice and outrage. Traffic would run better at rush hour! Finally, a use for Glenn Beck! Jenny and I laughed and said goodbye and headed out to the Olympic Sculpture Park.

We caught the moments of beautiful brightness that broke through yesterday's storm. I love that part of the waterfront, where the ocean curls right up to the city's edge. The sky was a Pollack canvas of white and grey, with the brilliant orange slash of sunset carving the top of the Olympic mountains across the Sound. We'd never been through the Sculpture Park and I was delighted with the art and layout. By far my favorite was Mark di Suvero's Schubert Sonata, a huge steel abstract piece balanced on a towering point:


The wind whipped my skirt as we walked though the sculpture and talked. Jenny and I have been friends a long time, and she makes me think and laugh in a way no one else can. I met her at an amazing show of women musicians, video dj's and visual artists back when Neumo's was still Playland, and she introduced herself by sitting on my lap. She was there the night of Critical Jenn, a house party where I realized that every person in the room was named either Jen, Jennifer, Jenny or Jenna. She is also the woman I went to when I started work in non-profit, for she possesses keen insight into the workings of non-profit offices and can keep the mission at heart. I still marvel and count on her for her astuteness and sense of humor in what can sometimes be a social justice swamp. Jenny girl, I hope you always do what you do so well, and look damn fine doing it. Thanks for a great afternoon!

After popping over to the charming Panama Hotel Teahouse for a pot of jasmine with ginger we parted ways until she comes back to parts North again. A couple of the Hanta Haus denizens and I made it out to The Moth Seattle story telling night at Calamity Jane's, which while the stories were good the room was echoey and it was kind of hard to hear over the restaurant conversation. I came home and cranked up Swing Years and Beyond and played with Ursula until I fell asleep.

Oh blissful, not interrupted by the chemist in my brain sleep. I lingered long in bed until the internal chemist was replaced by my internal little kid, that woke up ready to play and oh! Oh! Apple cider! Can we go to the Farmer's Market?! And I want to take over quiz night at Georgetown Liquor Co., can we call Topher RIGHT NOW?

*sigh!*

**
Round the world and home again
That's the sailor's way
Faster faster, faster faster

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing

-Roald Dahl

This moment, littered with sirens of trains and ambulances, is so much cooler than anything I could ever imagine.

Oh little dude! Come home with me!

I am throughly Art Walked, thanks to Luke and Roni and Ian and Kris and Danny and Nate and Juno and Randy and Luke and Colleen and Marc... whew! How lucky I am, to know these people enough to carouse and raise artistic hell with them. Tomorrow I will have a pink and golden Skeleton and Key hedgepig for my house.

And still. And still, and still.

No!
by Thomas Hood

No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
No sky--no earthly view--
No distance looking blue--
No road--no street--no "t'other side this way"--
No end to any Row--
No indications where the Crescents go--
No top to any steeple--
No recognitions of familiar people--
No courtesies for showing 'em--
No knowing 'em!
No traveling at all--no locomotion--
No inkling of the way--no notion--
"No go" by land or ocean--
No mail--no post--
No news from any foreign coast--
No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds--

November!


++
Which inspired:

Headaches scare me. When I woke up this morning I'd had one since yesterday. I bagged the idea of doing anything productive by 6:30 AM and called in wretched to work. You know, like Victorian women that weren't sick exactly but really weren't able would call themselves 'wretched'. I should totally get a fainting couch for days like today. Luckily my body maximized the opportunity to drag me through the rest of this month's quota of physical discomfort muck and I spent the rest of the day reading and chewing up Tylenol tabs. Way to consolidate, me. Good job.

Well yesterday I said I wanted to cultivate home, and I sure did a lot of that. I got some cleaning done, finally hung my Mother's mirror (which was funny in itself. When a nail didn't work I tried a bigger hammer and when that didn't work it finally dawned on me: screws. Ha! Take that, lath and plaster walls!), played with Ursula, got my new passport in the mail (oh Isla Mujeres, it's just you and me and eight short weeks between us), finally got around to watching The 40 Year Old Virgin, which I've had since...oh, let's see... July 31, so sayeth Netflix. Heavens that's a long time. But it did push me into setting up movie-watching capability, which I haven't done at my new place, and the movie was really funny. I'm settling in and actualizing here, as per my recently hatched vision to do so.

I've reached a kind of naked lunch existence where part of me shrugs and says, hey, I'm a functioning depressive with a pretty good grip on it, sometimes I stay in bed all day, and the other part says WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! You can't do that! It's Wednesday for Pete's sake! Pull yourself together! And you said WHAT to him? Why on earth did you do that? In short, the filters are all kind of out of whack, which is probably why I'm writing this.

There's a funny balance I think we struggle with as grownups, the decision to wake up and go to work in the morning, every morning. And mostly, we do it. Until we don't. We try and evaluate how out of it we are (Am I sick? Really? Really sick? Sick enough to miss work? That sick? Really?) Honestly, though, let's keep it in perspective: I'm an Office Manager at a non-profit, not a social worker. No one is going to go hungry if I take the time I've earned and lay down for a few hours. The problem isn't work, or whether or not I am exploiting anyone or anything, I know I'm not. The problem is when not getting up each morning becomes more real than getting up, and that any step into that water sets off massive alarm bells for me.

I remember the first time I skipped school, which was remarkable only in that it was a non-event. Mostly there was a weirdness of being in the house alone when I usually wasn't and my brain recalibrating that I was even allowed to do this (or that I allowed myself to do it-- my Dad would probably have hit the roof since I was in the fifth grade). The road to a very different life was a knife edge I played on for a very long time; one slip this way or that and I'd be another pregnant high school dropout in Oklahoma City, which is certainly what half my family told me was all I was capable of. These days I count myself lucky for the quick thinking that allowed me to grow into the woman I am and try not to worry too much about any opportunities I may or may not have had if I'd been in a position to avoid that snake pit entirely.

All in all I'd say an effective use of a personal day, so there is little justification for thinking that being wretched is a waste of time though my work ethic still makes me sheepish about it. So in a way, today was good work, in as much as I got to listen in the quiet and nurse my head. While the buddha on one shoulder says, wait, the demon on the other yells, fire!, and they are probably both correct.