It Is Time to Shout into the Void

Time to dust off the ol' blog...

Annnd it is a time for writing. But it has been for a while. While the pen-and-paper method is satisfying texturally and textually it lacks a certain flexibility and communicability.

The void calls.

The words need to be shared.

The heart is sore - it has been put through the wringer lately, beaten on by a confusing mind and also filled-to-bursting with positive sensations. It aches, some of it hurts but some in a good way. The soft ache of muscles used productively in ways they haven't been used for a while, or ever.

I don't know how to say what I want to say. Not saying anything has lead to some physical symptoms I'm uncomfortable with. Literally. I haven't been physically comfortable for a few weeks now.

So it's time to express. Self-expression being my main hobby, I have found many other outlets for it in recent times. Not to avoid writing, but it's having that effect.

There's a spotlight on me, shining light on feelings and secrets I thought I was keeping to myself but that are being Seen...I feel exposed. I feel relieved. I feel sane. I feel grounded. I feel like I am floating away on a breeze full of warm thoughts. I feel like I've never been in love before. Or, maybe more accurately, that I've never let all of me be loved before. And I will be working on keeping less of myself all to myself.

For now that will be enough. And there is so much more to come.

SUPRISE! New typewriter soon!!

I love the interconnectedness of everything.

First of all, I know this woman who used to be the Image Studios office manager when my dad was still alive and boss of everything--she was also a staple at Christmas Eve dinner, and a lovely person to run into unexpectedly working in one of the engineering offices at the university when I was working there.

Well, her eldest daughter messages me on FB the other day...
"Hi there! I have an odd question...do you still collect typewriters?"

I'm thinking, welllll maybe. Depends. And then I read on.

"While cleaning out my grandma's house we found an old typewriter in a black box/case...a Smith~Corona. I'm not sure what year it is or anything, but it looks to be in pretty good condition. I looked on ebay and similar ones seem to sell for about $30. Would you be interested in it at all? I thought of you when I found it so thought I'd check and see. If you want a picture I can send one when I get home from work. 

Hope all is well with you my dear!"

So that sounds pretty cool. Could be a nice machine, but could be one I already have...but for $30? Sure I'll take a look! (that's what I was thinking, not what I actually said to her which was much more polite)

So she sends me this picture:

My response: (this is pretty accurate, I was looking at it at work with my friend/colleague Eve, who rolled her eyes profusely at the excitement)

Whaaaaaat!!!!!! OMG. WUT IZ DAT. I want it! Oh yeah!

I'm really excited. She said it was in pretty good condition, and as long as there's no mechanical malfunction I'm pretty good at cleaning, and have new ribbons if needed! AND nobody has to pay postage or risk the damage of mailing this beautiful machine (even though she is in Post Falls) because her lovely mother is going to bring it to Moscow sometime in the next few weeks! It'll definitely get some NaNo use if all goes well.

HOORAY!

I'm ridiculously excited about this.

Life is wonderful. Even if it's cold, raining, and I have no raincoats and no umbrellas.

Why can't it be a couple/few weeks later already!?

Oh right...exams, homework, and other things have to get done too. I guess I need more than a millisecond between weeks. SIGH

Satchmo Weezel signing off.

For AFTW...thank you, thank you, thank you.

This album (Away From The World) is changing my life right now...partially because I can't tear myself away from these songs to focus on reading assignments for poetry class tomorrow! ARG! But YAY! 

It's streaming for free on iTunes until the 10th. Released on the 11th. I should have it 2-4 days after that!!! I sprung for the super-deluxe edition...because when it comes to DMB I can't help myself, really.

For instance, an excerpt from my particular favorite (and having only heard the entire album once all the way through...well I've heard this song five times! haha) The Riff:
...
Sitting in a box away from the world out there
a world piled high with boxes just like this
but please don't ever leave me alone in here
take me out, shake off the dust, shake off the fear.
...
Remember how we used to dance, baby
just like it was everything?
(crazy great guitar riff and accompanying wonderful instruments, esp. drums)You stay with me
and that don't mean we have to stay the same
you stay with me
baby, you and me can make the change
you stay with me 
but that don't mean I wanna stay the same.
...
And then of course there's If Only:
...
Well maybe it's a game
You win some and you lose some
But when you've found a good one
Don't you let her get away
Don't let her go


Oh yeah
If only I could have you
Just the way I want you
Oh, to have you back again
Back again baby

Oh, I'm just a fool baby
Playing Mr. Cool baby
Rolling round like I got nothing much to lose
But I know you and you know me
And I know you can see
So help me find my way back to you
Back to you
...

Those two songs...those two songs make me ache and groove and hope and reminisce and smile and want to cry all at the same time.

I guess you could say I'm a fan.

***

BTW I have a new apartment! And INTERNET AT HOME! IT'S A MIRACLE! So maybe after I spend some time uploading much-delayed photos to my FB friends and family I will wrangle a typecast out of my school/work/etc schedule.

Brainstorming/freewriting...cancer and curiosity

This is sort of brainstorming for an essay I'm working on...it began with my recent research into "rcc" that was motivated by writing a terrible essay for a class I really enjoy. I am working on ideas for the revision and began looking it up...it spawned a few epiphanies, not all of which are mentioned here, but this is my trying to tie in enough ideas to possibly weave into another narrative along with the patterns of time of year. Cancer and curiosity was only how this began...I was surprised to tie in so many ideas into one free-written piece...it will of course change while being intertwined with other things by the time it's finished, but it's progress! (Progress in work as well as emotions.)


***

I tend to think of myself as a naturally curious person. It doesn't take long from the moment I hear of a new idea or word to the moment I type it in a search bar or grab a dictionary. Yet it took me over five years to type the words "renal cell carcinoma" into any sort of search engine. Those words are listed on my dad's death certificate that was hanging on the back door of what we call "The Old Studio." Listed as "cause of death," I carefully memorized the words five years ago so I would know how to talk about it with people when they asked "but what kind of cancer?" as a follow-up to the usual inquiry about his passing. I wanted to know after the fact, but I didn't even know what it was called for most of the 10 months we were watching it maul my father's body and wrack our family's support system in ways we would never have imagined.

I knew it was kidney cancer, I knew it had metastisized in his brain, but not once did I look it up to see what was happening to his kidneys, to his blood and brain. I didn't know that from the time they diagnosed him with a brain tumor from the kidney cancer he only had a 5% chance of living through the next year. I didn't know that until I was 21. He died when I was barely 16.

He left in the summertime, right as the feverish August arrived when Moscow usually reached temperatures in the 100s. We had never been in town for that particular time of year as a family, taking our vacation to the Oregon Coast for the last week of July, first week of August, trying to bring the clouds and rain back with us from the beautiful, blustery never-above-80-degrees coast. When he died I was in California visiting my half-brothers and friend of my grandparents. They lived near San Francisco, and we happened to be crossing the Golden Gate Bridge when my mom called with the news. They were 7 and nearly 5 years old at the time, and could hardly understand what was happening, but their words of solace meant more to me than anyone else's could at that time.

I tried desperately to see him in my dreams that night, or to imagine how I might change my flight home to go to the cremation with my mom and sister. I wasn't able to, and in the long run it was probably better to be there for my little brother's 5th birthday instead, but I still wish I had seen him. I wish I had seen his body somehow so I wouldn't have spent months hearing him coming around the corner, or with my heart pounding when I heard loud steps on the stairs or someone solidly shutting the front door. Years later I can still hear him, although briefly, in the next aisle at the grocery store, or in the voice of a friend's parent, before I realize it is someone else's father, or brother, or partner.

Soon after that day on the bridge I began dreaming of his return. In the dream his arrival was subtle to everyone but me, and I would rush into his arms and whoop and hollar and happy tears would run down my face into his big belly....the dreams used to end there. After some months we started having time to make plans, and a few years later I almost had enough time to ask him questions like "Are you proud of me?" and "When did you take your first photograph?"....but I still don't know the answer.
Sometimes I can go for months without a dream of him, and then a wave breaks over my nights and at least once a week we'll see each other, but always the restlessness of my disbelief at seeing him again wakes me up too soon. Waking rips me out of his big-kahuna arms into a cluttered, dark room, with me under the Disney comforter he bought when I was 12. (It is still the most comfortable one I own.) His impossibly red, bushy, curvy eyebrows slowly fade away in the relief of orange streetlights peeking through my blinds.

Then time goes on, I talk about the dreams and his death, write a poem or two. I move on...for the most part. Moving on from losing a family member like that really means you move forward, you continue living, but you never leave behind those feelings, those days spent worrying about, realizing, and accepting something like renal cell carcinoma moving in and tearing apart your life, among many others, so quickly and thoroughly.

Hey, you there, with the eyes...

You with the green-blue ocean eyes and dark curls peeking out of your baseball cap.
I'm feeling sappy today, and you're the subject of my thoughts for a moment.
The first time we met our words worked over and through each other for the evening,
I will never forget the way you tell stories with your eyes wide open,
and how much you love your dogs, and how you had to leave them home when you came here.

You with the pure brown eyes and coarse black hair:
I still want to go to Maine with you. Maybe my feelings for you are stuck deeper in my heart than is necessary,
or appropriate, but I still want to adventure with you, and regularly do in my dreams.
We went sailing and caught some fish with no small effort.
We cooked over a fire on the beach, ate mushrooms and laughed the stars into being.

You with the sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes grey eyes,
I am sometimes not as honest with you as I should be.
Sometimes you get on my nerves, but you are the one who's always with me.
I want to be alone more often than I am comfortable admitting, and I know
part of that feeling is because I'm scared.
I love you too, but we both know the end will be different for us. I want you to feel loved by more than me,
You need things I don't think I will ever be able to give,
and you will find them, hopefully soon. Never forget you are amazing.