Leaving on a Jet Plane

I do know when I'll be back again ... at least, when I'm -supposed- to be back. ;)

There are many things to be nervous about while travelling. The thing I'm most nervous about? Leaving my cell phone behind. I'm not bringing it with me, for fear of losing it and so I don't have to go scrambling for a converter to keep it charged. Instead, my friend Emily has picked up a prepaid Belgian phone for me to use while I'm out there.

But yeah, this is the part of the trip that freaks me out the most, being cell-less. I'm funny like that.

Now, to get dressed. Wouldn't do to still be in my robe and towel when the SuperShuttle arrives. Since I won't have too much access to the internet, updates will probably be between sporadic to non-existent. You can email me if you like, and I'll try to get back to you when I'm at a Cyber Cafe.

See you in almost two weeks!

The Dream

In my apartment, and I heard a car door slam in front of my apartment, so being the nosy person I am I took a peek through the blinds to see who it was. It was a youngish man, my age, with a six-pack of bottled beer in a paper bag under his arm, and, noticing that I was peeking, he came right up to the window and peered back through the blinds, scaring me for a moment. And then he started calling in to me, asking who was there, asking me to come out and join him. I hesitated, he backed off a little, I ran to the window and called back out to him and he turned around, smiling.

He made some promise as he walked away, down the street to wherever he lived, some enticement to get me to come out. I stayed frozen in indecision, but I should have followed him. I should have taken him up on that promise. Too late, though, because it all faded in to a different scene ....

It was a party, and I didn't know he was going to be there, but he was. The house it was at was on a cul-de-sac, and for some reason there were a lot of strange men biking around and into it to arrive at this shindig.

I knew in the dream that I was still avoiding him — he was not my friend, never was, I just didn't realize it until a little while back — and when my parents showed up and saw him, I somehow managed to steer them away without explaining why I didn't want them to meet him, or chat with him. But then he came over to chat to me. I wanted it to be brief, but he kept talking as if we were still friends and then he told me his mom and brother were arriving, and started steering me over to meet them as they came in.

I ran into my sister, who knows the whole story between us, as we were heading over to the entrance. She glared when she saw him right behind me, his hands on my shoulder, but I snagged her and whispered as I went by, "He wants to introduce me to his mom. Just let it go for now. Don't say anything." And then she disappeared back into the crowd as we moved past.

His mother in my dream (I've never met his real mother) was small, weak, floppy like a broken doll, but he seemed so happy to see her and so proud of her it cracked that wall of reserve I'd been keeping up, though it was cracked a bit already &mdash he wanted me to meet his family, I was important to him.

My dreams only tell me what I want to be so. I want to be important, though I know I'm not. The longer the silence, the more I know it's true. I feel like a fool for ignoring the actions for so long, but listening to the words. The gestures were few and far between, just enough to keep me hoping, never enough to keep me secure.

I leave tomorrow, to be gone for almost two weeks in a place 6,000 miles away. And still no gesture. I've gotten the message ... but, call me nostalgic, I just wish it was a different one.

Who Loved Ya, Baby?

A little over a month ago, when I was walking down the main drag in my neighborhood (24th Street in Noe Valley, in case you were wondering), I found the parking lot of Bell Market gated off, and signs in the windows indicating that it had closed. Now, it's not like I went there often — usually when I wanted groceries, I drove up the hill to the Safeway, which was cheaper, had a better selection, and made more sense to take the car to. Still, it was a little disappointing: another example of an economy gone to complete shit, a neighborhood on the verge of decline. Plus, where was I going to go now for those quick produce pickups when I felt like getting my ass moving and taking a walk?

But then yesterday I was walking down the street again, and there were cars parked in that lot, and people standing around looking like they were Planning Something. And then I saw the signs hung up on the gate, and I realized my disappointment had come too soon.

We're getting a Whole Paycheck — sorry, Whole Foods — in my neighborhood. Like, a 10 minute walk from my house.

The place is too expensive for me, generally, but, call me bourgeois, holy fucking shit, I can buy my quinoa now and pretty produce and crappity have you seen their bulk bins?!

Once the place opens up, you just know that my grocery budget is completely blown to kingdom come. Oh, well. It was a nice idea while it lasted.

Speaking of budget-blowers, I leave for Europe on Friday. Yesterday's discovery was actually on my way downtown to buy Euros at Wells Fargo, so I can have cab fare when I land in Amsterdam, without having to pay those outrageous airport exchange fees. $300 got me €210. God dammit, I miss the exchange rates of the early 2000s.

Question for the week, unrelated the above two topics: So, now that it's now, was it all worth it?

The Interlocking-Circles Factor

Apparently, I'm growing into a San Francisco native. I've been here long enough — and know enough people — that I'm starting to randomly run into people who know someone I know.

Case in point: we started our new ceramics session this week, and the four newbies started chatting with each other about their jobs and such as they were stamping their slabs with random textures. One of them said she worked in the marketing department for one of our clients, so I perked up and mentioned that I worked at BW. About 10 minutes later, one of the other newbs comes up to me and mentions the name of one of my coworkers — in fact, one of the girls on my shift. Turns out, it was my coworker's ex-roommate. They'd lived together for at least a year (I think?), I'd heard the stories about her, and now here she was looking me in the face.

Life is funny like that.

In other news: my birthday is this Thursday, and I'm spending the night before and the night after celebrating with drunken revelry. If you want to join in, and haven't already received an invite, shoot me an email and I'll let you know the details.

Drained

I've written and re-written in my head the speech I would say to him. Over and over again for the past ... four days now? At the office in a moment of still, at home when I'm trying to sleep, or doing dishes. On the bus, walking down Market Street, out to dinner with a friend. I haven't had a chance to say it — don't know if I ever will get the chance to say it. Perhaps it's best I don't. I'm not quite sure I want to, since it changes from moment to day.

But the stony silence hurts me almost as much as the betrayal, the complete and utter obvious disdain for my feelings or my self. I gave him everything I could give him, was there for him when he needed me, was practically his best friend, kept his secrets and defended his weaknesses, and this is how I'm repaid. An emotional punch in the gut (I guess that is some sort of payback, for the physical one I gave him), and some nobody, some new toy, getting the public affection that I always wanted. Someone who's virtually done nothing, getting everything I worked for.

(And yes, I know how pompous and wannabe-martyrical that above graph sounds ... let me have some inflated sense of my own value.)

I alternate between empty staring to furious cursing to sobbing uncontrollably and back again. I feel empowered and hollowed out and like a humiliation all at the same time.

This will pass. But right now I don't know what to do with myself.

Delete

So I'm not a paranoid psychofreak. I'm actually right.

Delete.