Lately I’ve been considering a new career (you know, as opposed to the ever so riveting “nothing”). I’ve always felt lost, and haven’t had very much experience in a lot of things.
I’ve taken a lot of career tests, and they always tell me to be some kind of artist. Why can’t they say some thing like “bus driver” or ”file clerk” or something I can get my head around? So then I usually just throw in the towel and go get drunk or something.
This time though, I’m determined to change my life. Since many details in my life are up in the air right now, I figure it’s a good time to think about something to aim for. Something maybe a bit more specific than a “job” or “career”. I asked my friends about this and they suggested a career test and I took another one. It said I was a “Benevolent Artist” (that was my favorite personality test, personaldna.com. It’s very visual and pretty).
So I took another one, and another, and another. Interests, Values, Meyers-Briggs, they all said pretty much the same thing. In one of them you select careers that interest you. Bus driver was an option, and I didn’t pick it. So there you go.
I guess I’ve always been afraid to pursue an artistic career. It seems so impossibly painful. I’ve been learning though that not pursuing one is also impossibly painful. At least if I pursue something I’ll have something to do. I’m hoping that by next Winter I’ll be in a place where I’ll be able to take a few classes in school. Maybe all these assessments are not wrong, stupid tests and I’ll try taking some art classes.
I had a very disturbing conversation with a friend of mine the other day, in which she said I should not give my boyfriend a sober chance with me. She considered it a defect it seemed. I can only assume she feels the same way about me. And that everyone does. It seems like if you fuck up once, 90% of people label you a fuck up forever. You really might as well be a fuck up forever. It would be less frustrating than trying to convince people that you’ve changed.
I am in no means a promoter of Whole Foods. In fact, fuck that place, I used to work there. I am a promoter of fresh fruits on sale though, and was shopping there earlier today. They had both blueberries and peach lemonade on sale, so BAM! new cocktail.
handful of blueberries
peach lemonade (I suppose if you wanted to be fancy you could use real peaches and lemons, but this is a budget cocktail. It was on sale for $2.00)
combine ingredients in a blender and blend. It’s hella good.
Well, my first attempt at sobriety did not work. Now I’ve got more pills and am going to try again. I am still terrified of the boredom I face. I have some sewing projects. I’m going to try to work on those. I’m going to make some totchos. I’m going to be sick all day tomorrow. In just one week though, my boyfriend is coming home from fishing in Alaska. I really hope no bears eat him before then. He would probably be pretty tasty, I’ve always thought so anyway. Once he gets here, we can really start our shiny new life, and all that happily ever after.
Recently, I was cleaning out some journals and stumbled across some poems I’d written. Most of them were written in such a “passionate” state, that I could barely decipher them. I’m posting them not because they’re good poems, for they’re not good poems, but because they offer a sincere glimpse at what I see and my impressions of Portland. They also contain some uncanny foreshadowing that casts an eeriness upon my life. Was it insight, or courtship? Somehow I knew exactly what troubles I would encounter, and people who know me might get a kick out of that.
I close my eyes
the seatbelt light is lit
so am I
my last time ever being so high.
I see freedom
I see gardens coming up
I feel a surge of creative energy
I feel oddly comfortable
I can tell everything is getting better
I know I made the right choice
I caught up with the train
I jumped that rail
I’ll relax eventually
I’ve fucked many a walnut husk,
almond infused mountain soap,
but I’m always happiest with Irish Spring.
It’s good natured scent of candied masculinity is why
my hair is crooked pins and snarls
it’s why I’m wearing this fisherman’s jacket
why my eyes are focused so far in the distance
looking at new possibilities
steaming your wet cappucino
a smile on my face.
A VISIT TO SAN FRANCISCO
I breathed deeply
Inhaled the urine, the smut, the turpintine, the baby laxative, the laundry pile, the MDMA, the brit pop, the hardcore, the three hour group interview, the smog, toxic mold, hot rails, hot knives, hot sex.
Fuck this place.
I’ll find a brand new place
with all the same amenities.
Everything blooms here
we all dance
we all make out
we kick out the jams
There was really no reason for it,
but not much of an explanation.
Just a very flavorful feeling
a sudden hail storm
a sled sliding down a hill building up momentum.
WELL STOCKED BAR BATHROOMS OF PORTLAND
Everywhere you look
there are tables and chairs
TP and towels
time and space
boys and choice
A place chalk full of practical, creative, broke-ass,
delicately rustic people