9:30pm. Raining. Playing Oscar Peterson Trio’s Night Train album. Hair tied up in a high pony tail. Hot tea. Candles flickering. I should be doing homework, but I just want to listen to this jazz and bob my head up and down, and swing my hair from side to side. The dog is barking. No one else is home. I am loving tonight.

This morning I took a bath at The Lips’ place. Babes, do you mind if I take a bath?  I asked because I am polite like that. Not at all, he replied, In fact, I insist that you take a bath (I think our relationship is largely defined by these goofy moments. We both try to get a laugh, a giggle, a smile out of each other). So I ran the water. It was too hot as usual. I sat in the water with my knees curled up to my chest and read Water by Bapsi Sidhwa. 

Out of nowhere there were these little bubbles of joy rising in my chest. I thought, hey, everything’s good. These little bubbles keep rising up for me throughout the day despite me burying Bonnie in the backyard in the rain… that wasn’t so good. I exercised, met up with Mark at starbucks and we read our poems to each other, made myself a simple dinner, and am still bobbing my head to the music. 

This is the calm before a storm… i’ve got so much schoolwork coming at me as the term closes, but am not gonna let it dampen my mood, am gonna keep bobbing my head. Oh oh oh, look at them shoulders move! hehe..

It’s nearing ten at night. Our third day at Troutdale, Oregon is coming to an end. Tomorrow we finish up the last bit of our training course and head back home. 

I sleep well in hotels. The bleach smells on sheets soothe me. On the road, on the road. Anthony and I joked that if Dad came here with us, we’d be meeting in the lobby in ten minutes. We’ll have a hourly based itinerary. Not a minute will be wasted. Once Eric said to me, you really like making plans, don’t you? I felt a little embarrassed. We often joke about Dad and his somewhat rigid way of being, but I have gotten accustomed to it. I like knowing where I am going to be the next hour, tomorrow, and the coming weeks. 

Last night I had a dream of Anthony. He was about 5 in my dream. Vulnerable, curious and soft. Wobbles. Then Anthony woke me up when he got up to use the washroom. I had a hard time recognizing that they are the same person. They are the same person.

Yesterday I dreamt that Jess was dating a killer. I was furious with her for staying with him. He wanted to kill me. I walked through streets, passed by stores…the tiles under my feet were the green kinds with white spots on them. I was on a mission, in search for something. I was not running away from him. I kissed a faceless guy. In my dream we were in love. I kissed him and told him the killer would come after him because of me. He didn’t care. He was faceless, a bronze face with only lips, lips that look like the ones on my clay buddha. 

I was tired at the end of class today. Got back to the hotel to try to do some homework. Prose poems I had to read and respond to. I could not read. I glanced at the lines. Sabrina talked to me about a good encounter. Anthony was throwing some bouts of anger around. I have gotten used to these. Eric gave me a long space of silence. I was frustrated I couldn’t understand the prose poems. They were prose poems, damn it! Anyways.. this one I got, this one I like… 

Be Drunk

by charles baudelaire

You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.  

… I’d like to be drunk right now.

those heads, hair reminded me of fall leaves, an array of colors, and the bold ones, of course, bare branches. I never noticed how luminescent white hair is, how it attracts light. Maybe that’s why some old people glow. Some say it’s the wisdom, now I think it has to do with the hair. 

When you are gone, my shoulder is still warm from sitting next to you, the song still resonating in the walls. It’s the moment before you are really gone anyways.

I am not accustom to your tears. My chest cracks open in an attempt to swallow them. 

He said they look like soldiers left on the battlefield, those golden oak leaves. On a sunny, windy afternoon, they lit up and danced a spirited dance, hundreds of them. 

The weight of “yes” and “no”, I sometimes overestimate one and underestimate the other. 

I think I am quite pretty, especially when I smile. 

Dad recalled happily the first time he opened my diaper full of sh*t.

Always here, always ready, always perfect.

see the world through wine glasses

Friday night. Let’s first say, I am grateful for this time for contemplation, but then again, when am I not contemplating? but with words, I am grateful for this time of contemplation in words. There seems lots to be sorted out. Lots to think about. Jess complains that I tire too easily, only if she knew how busy I am in here. But I let thoughts float unorganized, and they occupy and consume me. So I am grateful for this time of contemplation in words, organized words, well, at least I’ll try, organized is really quite a relative word. 

I just finished doing a cleanse. My body feels quite good. Light and unburdened, a bit more energized and it is complaining less than before the cleanse. I want to do a cleanse for my mind, so it, too, could be light and unburdened, a bit more energized, and less complaints. I’ll resort to breathing. I trust that if I do it studiously like the way I took my colon/liver cleanse pills (three times a day with meal, six pills a time), it’ll help flush out the toxins in my mind. 

Last night Eric and I took our turns saying our thanks over dinner (it was a delicious feast cooked by him, of roast chicken with herb butter, roasted potatoes and garlic, stuffing with bits of pancetta, buttered asparagus, broccoli and corn with cheese sauce, oh and gravy, the divine sauce of chicken fat, shallots and mushrooms and I don’t know what else he put in it but it was yum… ten thousand calories later, I wished we had bought pumpkin pie for dessert). Like me, Eric likes to remind himself of the things that he’s grateful for, this is an attribute of his that I am grateful for ; )

They say being with someone is like dancing, this is probably one of the oldest metaphors. It rings especially true for me because I suck very badly at dancing. My body feels awkward in every joint, I lose beat, and involuntarily I make funny faces… There are brief moments of fluidity and before I could finish thinking, hey look at me, I am grrrrroooooovyyyy (granted, it’s not very groovy to say groovy, tricky word…), I step on you again. 

I think I am gonna watch myself a few episodes of West Wing, Dun Dun DUN! and head to bed. Tomorrow morning I am going to the writers’ festival with Mark. It’ll be poetry reading, which is right up our alleys. I haven’t mentioned him in a long time, but he remains one of my dearest friends. There are very few people in the world who make me relax enough to come through authentically and he’s definitely one of them.