and seattle slowly grinds to a halt.

I've kept away from gratuitous, masturbatory blogging for some time now, as kristin and I had discussed it at length, and determined that my time was much better spent in giving energy to my goals -- even before that, sitting to figure out what my goals are, without regard to how I was going to get to them. but as the new-era blizzard of '77 beats down upon the windowpanes, my hair fresh with dye, laundry laundered, car stuck, no shows to report, and maybe a dozen photos in my camera -- here I am.

I was struck by the gorgeous color and breadth of sarah's blog, of her snow days and her journeys, and the story of how she started shooting. which all started with me looking around when she posted the most glorious twitter post, that made me all achy, so achy I almost went for the ibuprofen:

blissed out from good conversation, poached pears, and a snowy walk with the love of my life

just sitting there, next to her name, all innocent. a tiny little sentence, and there's polaroids to match.

today truly is a blissful sight, as I sit here with "awesome" on the stereo, brilliant and melancholy, wind howling past the rafters and rooftops outside. I don't think I'm going to be able to get to work tomorrow, and I hate to not embrace such things, but I'm getting a progressively lower snow-day tolerance as the hours wane on. it's purely financial, because I don't have anywhere to be, and I like working on my agoraphobia as much as the next gal. yet, here we are -- so I might as well go back to embracing it. I might bake some cookies, and clean up the frames for the art show that we got at goodwill yesterday, but if I do, I'll probably save it for tomorrow.

we're coming up on five months that I've been in seattle, and it feels like three lifetimes already have gone by since my arrival. there's busted-up scared and scarred me, driving in the city crying my eyes out on the threads of leaving everything behind, getting lost around broadway trying to find kristin's apartment, seeing the streetsigns and shopfronts and wondering if I'd made the right decisions, and breaking open on a couch covered in white teddy-bear fur. there's the second part of summertime, glorious: ferry rides, sparkles from the ends of my fingers, and the beginnings of realizing that I'm in for an endless swirl of deliciousness. more shows than I can count. more photos than I can believe. the timid touching of the glass, to make sure it's there. and it is. and then the third part, the catching up, the part where everything is done and I sit still in the silence, and reality of my life washes over me -- sometimes like technicolor dreams, sometimes like dirt and grime under my fingernails. the moments where I realize that when I want to run away, that there isn't anyplace to go; the truth of sitting here, and that these really are my shoes... the being where I am. the putting down of crazy. the embracing of my whole self, good and bad, right turns when they should have been lefts, and one-way streets, and everything in between.

and so starts part four. I foray out into the sparkling foothills of this gorgeous city, a photographer, a writer, a poet, a fan. I bump shoulders with my dreams, and try to stand it for as long as I'm able, and I see goals that I don't know how I'll ever reach, because while some of them are just an outstretched hand away, they seem insane. insanely good, but still insane:

* I want to be a tour photographer, and I want to do art exhibitions in between.
* I want a big, open flat of an apartment, like one I saw in a movie once, photos all over the walls, studio space, exposed brick, old windows, a factory, and a nest for a bed.
* I don't want to think twice about the prices of cat condos to put in the sun in said apartment.
* I want an old navy blue volkswagen bug, chromed, restored, blissful. with a bundle of flowers in the backseat, piles and piles of daisies.
* for some reason, and I don't even know if they're goals, I have these odd visions of myself -- one in a blue old pick-up truck in the midwest in the summertime, with a cowboy hat, filmgrain; and one riding a bike, all in shape, kind of in a city setting. it's like the photos I have planned out for people I haven't met that I talk about, only they're little movies, and they're about me.

there's more, when I'm financially self-sufficient, like going to college, or just taking some classes. and the usual -- paying bills, living beneath my means, fixing my tattoos, and the like. I suddenly don't know how, writing this, sarah being blissed out about poached pears and me having goals for my life have anything to do with each other, but that's okay. I just felt like I had to write this all down between that, and riding around with clinton today listening to ben gibbard b-sides, and the snow. I'm somewhere between the last time I was comfortable and the next, with this layer of skin half off, and half not done coming off yet. my spine's all wrapped up in guitar strings, and we're pushing off for a new shore. again. I seem to be a series of massive upheavals, that would sway even the most solid of rocks, that even I don't realize the true volume of, until I'm telling my story to a stranger for the first time, and it always feels like the first time that I'm hearing myself.

the popcorn's calling, and the snowstorm beckons.

it's okay to be thirty-two and starting a new chapter. it has to be.

stay warm, and happy solstice. it's like my christmas night, fitting with the weather and all, but that's a whole 'nother blog post...

with a flourish,
viva.