Monday, August 29, 2011

Somewhere beautiful

And, another problem: mobility. Or, lack of mobility. Sometimes I feel trapped within the small area where I can walk, and then I wonder what it would be like if I had a car. And then I could just drive to somewhere beautiful, somewhere different, somewhere unusual – so many amazing choices around here, that's for sure. Or, even just to Arcade News, right? Not so beautiful, but a change of pace.

I can't tell you how sick I am of the same walk down the alley and then back around the corner. Even a quick visit to somewhere less familiar seems to clear my head – like last night, in the rain that wasn't really rain, the darkness so comforting and I did get that one moment of calm before exhaustion again, time to walk home.

Of course I can't drive because of pain, and I don't want a car because I hate cars and all they represent, and then that makes me dislike this town more, the lack of mobility. Sure, I could take a bus down Cerrillos, stand in the sun waiting and waiting, but anywhere else – forget it.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Another wall to get through

Lethargy: that's how I would describe it. The way I feel. I think it started when I took the new homeopathic remedy five days ago – the exact opposite of the feeling I wanted. It's worse than the usual exhaustion, because it's hard even to think. All I want to do is to get back in bed – that's what I did yesterday, three times, and oh how awful I felt, so separate from the world, separate and desperate and hopeless about the possibilities of connection, so tired that even communication felt like a wall, another wall to get through.

White cars: why are there so many white cars, SUVs, trucks, station wagons, that's what I watch through my front window, maybe this one is stopping here. In my next apartment, I'd like to have more of a view. I mean, it doesn't necessarily bother me here with all this space, I can look outside at the trees and adobe walls and the sky, but then when I'm this tired and it's so hard to go outside and do anything, I wouldn't mind more to see through my windows. I'm ready for a bigger city, here I walk around and I'm constantly struck by the lack of potential for any connection.

Even when I make it to the show at the railyard, oh how it seems so far. But then I’m there, and kind of excited, even though I don't like the music, but also not really excited, because I still feel so drained, separate, like I'm there but why am I there, watching people drinking and sitting, a wide range of types from the teenagers in the rainbow wigs to the skinny Texas society woman with big hair but this isn't giving me any energy. Sure I can watch the way the sky frames the stage, and I didn't notice those four lights on top before, kind of pretty, maybe I'm curious about the next band but the final song for this one is a drums and guitar instrumental that goes on and on and on, and it's not like they're bad musicians or anything, but this noise is hurting my head so I stand up to head back, and as soon as I start walking I think oh, this is the right choice, yes get me home get me home now.

Did I mention the blackbirds on the way, I wanted to sit down in the grass and talk to them but I didn't think they would understand me. Now they're not there anymore. Now it's the next day and I've slept better or maybe not better but longer, 12 hours in bed and now I've been up for three and it’s hard to imagine anything else but getting back in bed, except yesterday it didn't help at all . But I'm sinking into this sadness this brain-shutting-off feeling that means I'm not sure there's any other choice.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

What happened?

I mean I guess I could ask that any day, but some days it's worse. Today it's worse. My sleep wasn’t really interrupted – I woke up a little too early, but 8½ hours didn't sound too bad, I was so hopeful that today would be the day. Sometimes I tell myself that in bed: today's the day, the day when I feel better. Or, sometimes I correct myself: a day. A day when I feel better. Because I want more than one, right?

But, of course, I feel worse. So exhausted after a few hours that I have to get back in bed, then I'm lying there worried that I'm not going to fall asleep but I do, except that when it wake up I'm not awake, maybe I'll go outside to sit in the sun, but that just feels oppressive and draining, how did it get so hot? Back inside to soak my feet in vinegar and that helps a little but not enough, and then I have to get ready to go to therapy, which always makes me feel a little better, except that it's so hard to get there, so draining, and then after I leave I have a few moments of calm before crashing again. But how will I even get there today? In 20 minutes I have to leave. Twenty minutes and all I want to do is to get back in bed, except it didn't help last time, and really I don't understand this trajectory: why is everything worse again? I mean, I know that everything got dramatically worse when I took the anti-parasite medicationas, but then I thought maybe I was getting better from that. Not better like I felt good or anything, but better like I felt exhausted and drained and overwhelmed all the time, but in the usual way, not three times worse than usual, but then now I'm sliding down again. What's next?

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Just what I was hoping for

Wow, it's almost scary with this thunder from all directions, lightning high in the sky and that rumbling growling slamming rolling pounding sound, but yes, this is the air that I want – soft and moist and blowing in from all directions and yes, now it's finally pouring outside I mean before it was raining but not pouring and the lights were flickering, I was on the phone with Jory who said his mother always gets off the landline when there's a lot of lightning, really? Before I was going to go on a walk but now it's really pouring so I'll watch and feel it from inside I guess yes yes please more air and my head clears, bring it all inside, bring it all inside my head I can finally feel something like calm, openness, amazement too at all this sound and light in the dark and it's funny because earlier Justin watered the dry garden because I saw the approaching clouds but yesterday it wasn't even drizzle, rain so fine I called it slizzle, and then other days we get tons of thunder but no storm really, thunder drizzle, but now it's really slamming down, looking onto the street I guess there must be a slight decline in the direction of Don Diego because that's where all the water is rushing, more lightning now and I finally feel kind of okay – still exhausted like before but not so drained, hopeful actually about what might happen when I search for rest in the near future, hopeful that it might even happen, do you think?

I want this paragraph to be further from the previous one – I know I could move it, but that's not what I mean. What I mean is that I want to feel closer to the previous paragraph. Why do I get so angry at myself in the middle of the night, in the middle of the night when I wake up with back pain because of the direction I turns, in the middle of the night that isn't really the middle of the night I mean I've slept six or seven hours and why can't it feel cumulative, this sleep thing, after six or seven hours I should feel better, right? There's something wrong with how my body processes sleep, this horrible headache drilling through my head, why today? What happened today to bring on this headache? Lying in bed I get so angry at myself like there's something I could do to change all of this, when of course I'm always trying to find that thing, or things, or whatever it is, but it isn’t.

And then I do fall asleep, back asleep I mean, after whatever horrible frantic thoughts are going through my head, but then when I wake up again it's like I'm in a tunnel, that deep dark emotional sadness sinus pain hopelessness, and I think about going back to sleep again but it doesn't help. It's the time when I usually get up – maybe I'll get up and see, see what it feels like.

But when I get up what I see is that I feel horrible, absolutely horrible, but I do need to cook the beans so I have something to eat today, right? Mung beans, and the last time I ate them they brought on the bloating right away, but whenever it's something that I use all the time, one of the few things that doesn't make me sick usually, whenever that happens it’s even worse, right? So I'm hoping it wasn't the mung beans, maybe something I put in them, one of the herbs I got from the farmers’ market. Or maybe it was just that time of day, the time for bloating, and anything would have brought it on?

Why am I so dehydrated today, this moist day, a day when I wake up and the trees are wet, I don't know if I’ve ever seen that before in Santa Fe, the way the bark gets darker and there's a different smell to be earth, what is this smell exactly? Almost like eucalyptus and I love eucalyptus, maybe it's something about the cedar or pine trees? Shouldn't it clear my head instead of bringing on this horrible sinus headache, where is this coming from? Not the dryness because the air is moist today although my nostrils are still disastrously dry. Maybe a seasonal allergy, something that blew in with the rain. Or could it be because I stopped using the nose ointment, switched to an oil because I didn't think the ointment was helping anyway and I didn't want my body to get addicted or allergic to the preservatives in it, which kind of felt like what was happening. Maybe that ointment was helping.

Well, now I'm definitely ready to eat something – starting the day with a delicious dulse seaweed miso broth which definitely clears my head but oh great, bloating right away, just what I was hoping for.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

What we do here

Walking home, there's a whole crowd rushing over to the Cowgirl, the only bar around that's open, always packed with tourists and locals, and local tourists. It feels late but it's not that late really, and I want to stay here in this moment of walking home in the dark yes this dark I do love, now that the sun is setting earlier I see it more. I want to stay here in this moment when the smallness of this town feels more like the largeness of the sky, the familiarity of a walk down deserted streets, through a park that I love, across the ugly car boulevard that I hate, not deserted, into a much smaller park that isn't really a park just a staging ground for the road, around the corner and back to my apartment where I can hear the crickets chirping, yes the crickets everywhere outside you don't see them but that sound.

But now I'm here in this morning bloating, I thought maybe the morning part of the bloating was gone but it's not. So much worse today, and why? I can go over everything that I ate yesterday, but it doesn't help. I wonder if the vitamin D shots irritate my gut, but they're going into the muscle to avoid the gut, right? At least it's cloudy and cool, although probably that won't last long. A car drives by with two big tan dogs sticking their heads out of one window – maybe I'll stay with that image. This is what we do here: we watch cars.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Someday

I wonder if there will ever be a point when I walk into a hotel and don't feel like I'm turning a trick, search for the elevator before entering the lobby, try to act casual, don't look towards or away from the reception desk. But actually they're a hot guy working there who stares at my earrings – much hotter than the guy I'm going to have sex with, that I know for sure and for a moment I think of stopping to say hi, but that's just a fantasy so I pretend I don't notice and keep walking.

Actually I don't see the elevator so I take the stairs, second floor is already the third and that's where I'm going, super-wide hallways with faux-Oriental carpet although I guess Oriental already implies faux -- so I mean factory-made to imitate something woven in East Asia, although that's probably where the factory is, right? There's some guy sitting in the hallway on his computer, for a moment I think maybe this is a set-up and that's the person who really posted for sex, just to see people walking in the hall, but actually he's much hotter than the other guy to so that wouldn't make sense, right? When I say hello he looks at me like I'm trash – South American royalty, I'm guessing, although does South American royalty stay at this Hilton?

Whoever decided that hotels aiming for fanciness could still use drop ceilings – whoever decided that certainly doesn't live with drop ceilings, that's for sure. This is a long hallway, and around two corners and all the way at the end is my destination – across the hall a door is slightly ajar, and once again I wonder if that's really the guy, standing there to watch me knocking on someone else's door, so you see how I have a lot of trust in internet hookups. No, this is the one – here he is, a nice smile in a dark room. I don't know why I think that if they post a not particularly attractive or unattractive picture that they'll actually look like that, or that somehow 42 is a random enough age that he'll actually be 42, but anyway he’s 40 pounds heavier and 10 years older but do I really care? Sometimes it can seem terribly unjust that this is what my sex life has come to – hooking up with people I'm not really attracted to, that remind me of turning tricks – I mean this time I'm even in a hotel, right? But I thought about it ahead of time: I really just want the feeling of someone's fingers on my skin. Someday I will create a sex life based on mutual attraction and laughter, bright eyes and intimate conversations, a home in these arms, but not today, and not in Santa Fe I don't imagine. I mean it doesn't seem possible.

So here I am, and he does that thing where he grabs my dick first like maybe I'll go away otherwise, yes I know he wants to suck me off I mean that's when he said ahead of time but I'm not hard and I'll never get hard this way. He drops his shorts – super-fat dick sticking straight out and I think do I want to suck his dick, even though I'm not attracted to him? Yes I do, that's what I decide, so then I'm there in that familiar place on my knees, displaying my talents and somehow he's naked, lying back on the bed and then I start to wonder if this angle will hurt my jaw so I stand up.

Now I'm hard – he reaches for my dick, unbuckling my belt and unzipping my shorts, but I put his hands on my thighs. He reaches for my armpits, that's what makes me moan, then he's sucking my dick and he's not that good but I could come anyway, not yet, he’s lying back on the bed to get that angle so I grab his neck to choke but not choke and put his hands back on my thighs, yes, and there's his dick, do I want to suck it again, sure so I lean over, and what's interesting about sucking someone’s dick when they're not paying you and when you're not so concerned about their pleasure is that you can just stop right at the moment when it doesn't feel that interesting anymore, so then I stand back up, teasing him for a while and he's grabbing my ass, teasing my asshole and balls so gently he's really good at that, it's my favorite part and then when I’m holding his head and getting ready to shoot he chokes and pulls his head away so I come on his face, kinda hot until he ruins it by saying yeah dude you know I want it.

Faggots should be banned from saying dude for at least 100 years. Do you want a towel, I say, and go into the bathroom to get one. He's still lying on the bed with a hard-on, I say I'm kind of tired so I think I'm going to head home. He already knows that. I asked him if he's from New York, because his profile says Midtown something or other, but it's Midtown Houston. That makes more sense. He comes here a lot; he’d like to see me again.

On my way out, I grab his head and give him an intimate kiss on the cheek, not because I'm feeling anything necessarily but just because I want him to experience my affection; I want these experiences to feel affectionate. How many years has it been since I made a living in other people's desires – I was so certain when I stopped turning tricks that suddenly my sex life would rise from the mundane emptiness of longing and loss, but I was wrong. I thought I would feel more, but I feel less.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Doctors

When I first moved here, and was so excited about all the air – I fantasized that slowly I would be able to take longer and longer walks, until I would be able to walk several miles and not even notice, I mean walk several miles and feel great, better, breathing the fresh air and taking in all the energy from the outside world and growing stronger. Unfortunately that hasn't happened. Most of the time my walks feel shorter; when I walk a longer distance it’s just because I'm pushing myself.

And then the bloating: here it is again, like clockwork – the evening rolls in, all that beautiful light and my belly expanding. I hate it when the homeopath asks questions like: does it hurt to put on pants? It hurts me to think about that. I wanted to call her and tell her some other things I thought of, while she's coming up with a new remedy, but then I keep getting too tired.

But worse -- I'm in the doctor's office, waiting for a shot of vitamin D and why does she always keep me waiting? This time I called right before, to make sure she wasn't running late, but then I've already been here for a half-hour. I get so angry because I'm so tired, so drained that I can't possibly sit here any longer I mean I'm also hypoglycemic and there isn't any purified water here anymore, who ever heard of a holistic doctor's office in Santa Fe without purified water? They stopped carrying it because they ran out of money, but the doctor promised it would be back by last week so you know what to think about her promises. I mean they have one of those stupid PUR things on the sink, but that's pretty much the same thing as drinking tap water. The doctor even said that last time, after I drank some anyway because I was thirsty and I can't possibly carry water all the way there. So I'm dehydrated and exhausted and hypoglycemic and angry as hell and someone starts coughing in the other room so the doctor has to fix the IV and I take that chance to walk outside without saying anything, turn the corner and start heading home because I have to get back by 1:30 anyway and I'm so angry and sad and exhausted and overwhelmed and drained, all because I wanted to do something small to help myself.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

The sky, maybe the sky and those dry hills in the distance

Sometimes I wonder why I even go on a morning walk these days, I mean it just makes me more tired. Sitting inside in my brain I can feel like maybe something’s okay, but then I'm walking down the alley and I'm bored of this alley, nothing new to look at, so exhausting just to get to the end and then I think oh no, now I need to walk back down Don Cubero again, not that it's that hot today but I already miss the rain, yesterday’s rain where after it stopped it stayed cloudy for a few hours and that almost never happens. I went on a long walk, too long actually but I saw some cute cottontail rabbits eating the grass outside one of those government buildings, that was pretty exciting, gave me enough energy to walk to the Plaza to see what music was playing, because they have music in the evening outdoors during the summer but I guess it was canceled because of the rain.

Should I turn the other way and go down Don Diego? But Don Diego has all those cars, car exhaust. Oh, well – I guess I'll try it this time anyway, and right when I turn there's suddenly this amazing view of the sky, oh the sky I do like the sky and those dry hills to the north, and then I see the little street across Don Diego, yes, that's where I should go. And, a new alley that I've never walk down before! It's kind of ugly, but it's always interesting to look into people's yards from behind their back walls, right? Around the corner and back into familiar territory, the back road I take to the doctor's office, used to take to St. Vincent De Paul but I haven't gone there in a long time, don't need furniture anymore.

Okay I'm home. At least the bloating isn't so bad now – remember when it was getting better? Then I used a colon reflorestation kit, which is basically a little bottle of super-pure probiotics that you squeeze up your ass, sounded like a good idea. I mean it said that you might feel symptoms for a few days after, but now it's been eight days and I don't even know, I don't know when anything gets better, I mean really better, and now that I stopped for a moment to think about it I'm too tired to write anymore.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Oh, but this yes this...



Nose drama

Oh, bloody nose – not the drippy loose running pouring out kind, but the everyday high desert variety: crusty nostrils, maybe a little bit of phlegm and you spit, red mixed in with the yellow. Or, nose clogged and you blow red onto another towel, towels that you use to save the trees but also because they're softer, better run water over that bloody towel, time for more of the homeopathic nose ointment that's supposed to help but why does it contain so many preservatives?

You worry about those preservatives in your nose, every day but especially on the days when the humidity is 4%, 6%, maybe 8% and then you think about the rain again, driving through Las Vegas, New Mexico on the way home and it was incredible all that rain not the kind of rain that feels like it could stop any moment but just rain, cloudy pouring rain for hours driving through the desert actually, until the terrain changed into that red-earth sky-dwelling small tree Santa Fe approach and then the sky was dry again, a little bit of moisture still in the air but another crusty dried out bloody nose was certainly just around the corner, better than that loose runny kind certainly when it feels like mucus but suddenly it's a warm stream all over your sheets, none of that here and for that I am grateful.

Monday, August 08, 2011

Something that calmed me

Well, I just got off the phone with Jessica, talking about how naps always make me feel worse, don't take them unless I can hardly form a sentence but now I think I'm ready for a nap. I'm not having trouble with sentences, just with an unbearable sadness surrounding me, exhaustion pushing my head closed. I went on my morning walk already – before I even ate anything, and it's true that I have more energy than, before I've eaten, wasn't sure if physical energy too or just in my head but the walk was twice as long as usual, through the dirt alleys and the sun wasn't as hot or there was more shade and then when I looked at the houses in the light there was something that calmed me.

Don't feel calm now, just destroyed. Guess it's time for bed, for a little while at least.

Sunday, August 07, 2011

The loss of what you were supposed to be

Picture this scene: I’m at dinner after a reading, several people I haven't seen since high school, I mean they came to the reading – yes, Washington DC, even. So one of these people, who I wrote about briefly on my blog, his fast car and the apartment he shared with his mother, lying on his bed smoking cigarettes and wondering if there was an expectation for something else, maybe that's why he'd invited me there. And then he contacted me just after I wrote about him but didn't mention it so I didn't mention it either. At the reading he’s positively beaming in spite of all that cologne, buying my books for his brother, but then at dinner suddenly he's obsessed with my path to sex work although of course that isn't the word he uses -- not hooker or hustler or whore either, those are my words – maybe escort?

Or: male prostitute. The way you need to add male to emphasize that you're not tits and ass or maybe ass but wait, maybe it's that something has become even more degraded, the loss of what you were supposed to be now just a male prostitute. Maybe curl your lip a little when you say male. That was the term I used in high school, when people would say what do you want to be when you grow up or no they didn't say grow up anymore we were all grown up, I'm talking about other high school students probably people would say what do you want to do when you graduate? I was envisioning an endless supply of absinthe and hair dye and cigarettes somewhere on the Left Bank in Paris, right? Well, when I didn't feel imprisoned by the need for Ivy League status, the place I'd been working towards since I memorized all the names of cheeses my father served for guests at the only big party I remember my parents throwing, when we moved into the new house and I was five or six.

But anyway this guy from high school with the white convertible, permed hair fresh from the suburbs actually the suburb where I lived too but I been going to school in the city for so long that I knew how to wear my black clothes with sufficient ennui to pass as urbanly bred. Although he had certainly mastered the unquestioning and unquestioned masculinity, something I knew I would never pull off so we were an odd pair, odd enough that our friendship only lasted down a few speeding trips on the highway, maybe a party or two before he or I discovered we didn’t quite match and maybe I had a crush on him, didn't matter because a crush in high school just meant feeling crushed, wanting something that would never happen or certain death.

But anyway here he is at dinner obsessed with the details of turning tricks, but even stranger his telling of the story involves the changing of my last name and the bleaching of my jet-black hair to pass as sufficiently WASPy not the Jewish intellectual of high school years but a pinup porno posterboy. Do you see how there's so much you can create when you don't know the worlds you're describing? And even though I’m saying WASPy now, I think he might have said Italian – now, that really really wouldn't have been possible. But let's look at these errors of interpretation: my blonde hair was dyed jet black in high school in order to pass as sufficiently outside the norm although it turns out inside another norm I didn't even know I was evoking. And, sorry, darling, but hookers don't usually have last names, not even WASPy Jewish intellectual hookers I mean we don't give that out.

But here's how I wake up: I’m at the reading group, and Trav who’s facilitating lets all these people join in who didn't even read the book, everyone's passing around my throat lozenges like candy but Trav is fascinated by the diversity of this new gathering – entire families with kids, most of them Latino but now it's a sing-along and I'm so angry that I get up to look for my clothes so I can go home, walking through the entire school and yes, there's my scarf, coat, sweaters in bags but dammit where are my sandals, someone took my sandals. Oh, here they are in the bathroom, socks too, but when I get into the lobby of my high school I realize no I don't wear socks with sandals and wait, these are someone else's sandals, too small and not negative balance they're going to hurt my body for sure so I take them off and then I walk back around but now I'm lost, all this security outside a hotel lobby, I've been up all night but maybe that guy sitting on the sofa with his legs spread, maybe it's time for cruising except he gives me that look like how dare you give me that look.

Okay, back to school and now it's a stadium or an art museum with a long long hallway, Indian grocery in the corner, hair salon and I apologize to the stylist for leaving everything there but then I realize nothing’s there, the place is spotless – I'm wearing all the clothes, sweating like hell, but where are my sandals I can't lose those sandals because they've been discontinued and I need them for the hot weather and just then I realize this dream really doesn't matter because my sandals are right here in my living room in Santa Fe, right? So then I wake up with a horrible headache, wondering if stressful sleep counts as sleep I mean is there any other kind and that's when I think about hair dye too, how when I started turning tricks one of the reasons was so that I could keep dying my hair – flamingo pink and green apple and dark tulip and all those other day-glo colors, a job without getting a job I mean I’d just been fired from two jobs that hired and fired me for the way I looked.

Saturday, August 06, 2011

Already

Okay, forget what I said about getting used to the summer – I hate this heat! I mean, yesterday it did get gorgeous – our first really pounding thunderstorm and just before it started I noticed these two skinny people in shorts and tank tops staring in at me from the sidewalk, when I looked over and smiled they turned around and pretended they were sitting on the wall. Then it really started pouring, and I wanted to invite them inside for shelter, better than the tree they were sitting under, but then I felt self-conscious about wearing only boxer shorts I mean not really self-conscious for me so I guess that wouldn't be self-conscious, but conscious that they might think I meant something sexual, especially when just before I was cruising the internet and I don't think they could see that but maybe they could see something.

So I went into my room to put on more clothes, went into the bathroom to check on my hair, but then by the time I was ready it just seemed like I had missed the moment. I mean they were still sitting out there, but it made me feel too conspicuous to yell at their backs – hey, do you want to come in? But then by the time the rain stopped, or stopped pounding so hard, these two people were on their way and I regretted not saying something.

But oh the air after that rain, so cool and fresh and moist and I wanted to go on a walk but I was too tired so I waited until this morning, 10:30 am and how could it already be this hot? And: how could I already be this tired?

Friday, August 05, 2011

Shielding me

After feldenkrais, I walk out into the world and think oh, I could live here if I felt like this – everything feels softer, dreamy, filtered – my body more aligned, mind open and calm, intimate, ready for intimacy. Looking out at the tremendous light of the mountains and light inside too, this walk an adventure.

That lasts for about 10 minutes, then I'm exhausted again, trying to get home. But I'll take minutes if that's what I can get, okay? In the morning, I wake up and it's cloudy, please can this last all day. Although I will admit that I'm getting used to one part of this summer thing – shorts and tank tops and sandals, even a soft cotton sweater feels constricting – why would I wear anything more, the wind on my skin, shoes and socks an annoyance except for once in a while, at night when it gets chilly. Remember: I didn't wear shorts for about 20 years, made the decision when I planned to move here that I would switch that at all around, throw down some shorts and tank tops and sandals and sun hats to deal with the heat and honey it does help, it does help. Now I'll just have to deal with the trauma of pants, scarves, coats and wool hats but no, I've always liked layers, I'll be ready then too, right? Definitely ready for cooler weather – by the time I get outside for my morning walk it's already ridiculously hot, even though I never make it very far I'm glad for this sun hat, shielding me.

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

Better

Just after I wake up, I'm standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror and I think: that's the body I want. But wait – that is my body. But without all the bloating – or, not as much bloating, at least. Different than later in the day, I mean once I start eating, but even if this moment is about body dysphoria it's also about a presence, maybe there's some kind of hope there, right? When did I write this paragraph? Seems like a while ago, and now the bloating is back – maybe it will start to rain soon, with all this humidity in the air, but still I need so much moisturizer on my hands.

I go on a walk, but I'm so tired that even though I can sense beauty – look at that sky, those mountains, the way those flowers are growing out of nothing – even though I can sense all this beauty, I can't really feel it. Do you know what I mean? It just feels like I'm walking too far even though I haven't walked far at all, better turn around soon and then I turn around. Those prickly things are stuck in my shoes, so I pulled them out one by one. Across the street someone is watching me. The only other people out are walking their dogs.

At least the dogs aren't barking. Is there more to say? Let me try to describe this exhaustion: my head, my pain, my head in pain my eyes dizzy my brain falling off if I close my eyes I sink into breath, maybe that's where I need to go. And last night I actually slept better – what does that mean, better?

I do love these radishes…

Monday, August 01, 2011

Enough

Two messages from my mother, at 10 pm and 10:03. That's after midnight for her, and she usually goes to bed around nine. She says: I feel bad about our conversation. Which drags me back down into that sadness, that sadness I was trying to escape. I need to write this before I call her, but now there is this exhaustion, I need to write through the exhaustion so that I can call her. No, I mean: and then I can call her. I need to write so that I won't feel this sadness, or won't feel it so much, won't feel like it's dragging me down but I'm already down I can’t deal with more dragging.

The conversation, a familiar one, each time it takes a slightly different form but it's always there: my mother is worried that if Congress doesn't raise the debt ceiling by Tuesday, she'll have to liquidate some of her assets. She's been spending too much money. And so, for the next several months, she'll have to stop sending me money, the monthly amount she's committed to sending, committed several times over the last several years although the amount keeps changing, now it's lower but she needs to stop sending it for a while, just until the stock market goes back up.

And no, this doesn't matter like it used to – I'm not dependent on my mother anymore, now that I inherited the money from my grandmother. But still it's helpful for the long turn, keeps me from worrying that I'll eventually run out. And, it's something that she promised, something I appreciate, that promise. Even though a promise from my mother is never a promise.

She's telling me all these details about her accounts and things she’s spent money on recently, or needs to spend money on soon: her condo fee that she pays for three months at the end of each year, so that it's paid for the next year; her trip to Spain; taxes. That's where I fall on the priority list, somewhere below condo fees and a trip to Spain and taxes. My mother wants to know what I think; I say we've had this conversation so many times and then every few months it happens again – you’ve committed to sending me this money, it's supposed to be figured out so that you don't have to worry, and I know that your financial planners think that I'm the first thing to go, I know they keep telling you that.

My mother says: so you feel like I'm listening to them too much? No, I say – I know that you listen to them too much, that's just a given, but I feel like I'm at the bottom of your list of priorities. My mother says: that's just not the case. I say: it sounds like you've already made up your mind. And that's the first time my mother says this is making her feel bad, can we talk about something else? No, I say – that's just fake.

Then we’re talking about the same things again, not this bottomless pit of sadness which is childhood, which is our relationship and somehow this relationship has come to mean more to me because I feel like I have less, emotionally I mean, and then in a way I depend on her and this is where it always leads. I know I already felt sad from the exhaustion of traveling, sinus depletion and pain, coming back to this place where sometimes I feel like I have nothing.

But what do I need now? I need to get out of this sadness, so I tell my mother how it feels to be back: I hate the dryness, even when it's humid my skin feels dry and I go on a walk and no one's around and I have a few friendships that mean something but it's not enough. My mother wants to know where I'm going next. Probably Seattle although I won't be able to be there for more than 15 months I don't think, because of the winter and I'll get too depressed and I'm sick of moving but I don't know where I want to be. My mother wants to know why Seattle. Because it's always felt calming to me, although compared to here, I don't know what it will feel like anymore and I'm not making a decision until I go on my book tour, but I know exactly where I could live and be right by the co-op and a good bookstore, a park, and something else – what was the other thing?

The cruising park, but I don't say that. The sex clubs, but I don't even know if that means anything to me anymore. My mother says oh, well that makes sense, and I say but then there’s the mold. And my mother says oh, that's not good. Like she didn't realize there was mold in Seattle, with all the dark and rain; like we haven't already talked about this. And then she needs to go to bed, but she thanks me for talking about other things. And stays up, or goes to bed and gets back up, I'm not sure.

I go on a walk through the clouds that look like rain but there's only a few drops, back at home I have an email from that guy from earlier on, the one who said let's get together around five or six and I kept staring at his picture because he looked so hot, it seems like I never hook up with someone that hot online, and now he wants to get together, okay, and then I'm so edgy walking around the house, brushing my teeth and then pissing, and then pissing again, keep thinking I have to shit but I don't, wash some dishes, he’s late and he already said he had to meet some friends for dinner, could only stop by for a few minutes and was that okay, maybe he's not going to show up.

And right then it starts to rain, really rain, not just a few drops – I can hear it on the ceiling, the skylights, and I want to go outside but I don't want to look like I'm anxiously waiting, so I just look outside through the back door, open already for air circulation. Maybe I'll wash another dish, piss again, brush my teeth. Then I give up, open the front door to see the rain and oh, there he is walking towards me right at that moment. So much for trying to look like I'm not anxiously waiting.

He's kind of shaking – or not shaking, more like bouncing – and at first I wonder if he's tweaked but then I think it's just nerves. He doesn't look exactly like his picture, older and puffiness around his eyes but he's cute enough for sure. What are you up to, he says while he's bouncing around, eyes bulging in and out and then he says it again: what are you up to? Um, waiting for you. So that's when I kiss him, big lips and he seems to like that part, I pull up his shirt so he takes it off and I rub his chest. He does that thing where right away he grabs my dick, pulling and tugging like that's going to get me hard so I say rub my thighs, but then as soon as my dick does get hard he's back there again so I reach for his, pull down his pants and underwear, take his dick in my mouth and immediately I taste pre-come, suck for a minute or two but not too long I think because I know he said something about wanting to suck my dick but now he's just tugging.

You want to go over there, I say, pointing to the sofas and he sits down, my dick in his face but he’s still just tugging, I could come because it's been so long since I've had sex I guess, a month I think, but it would be annoying and now he doesn't want to suck my dick anymore, even though that's what he was talking about before, and this is where I wonder if he's closeted, or just not that experienced, there's a lot of that here in Santa Fe, that skittishness about sex, and now he's covering his crotch so I don't suck his dick, I'm not sure why. He just wants to see me come. I have to go soon, he says, my friends are waiting. Okay, I say, and then I'm standing over him – just rub my balls, really soft, I say, and I'll come like that, but he doesn't want me to come on his chest because he's going to dinner. What about a washcloth, I say – and then: okay, how about if I sit in your lap, just rub my thighs, and then I stand up and shoot it on the floor, he says something like: that was pretty good.

And then he's all jumpy again, do you want some water? A towel? He goes to the bathroom, and when he comes out he has that bigger-eyed goofy look in his eyes, brown pants rolled up to the knees, running off into the no-longer-rain and after he’s gone I think that was silly, pointless – I could write him an email saying let's get together again, just because he was hot, and maybe if he wasn't so rushed he wouldn't be nervous, but I already know I won't hear from him again, just like usual.