I've been thinking a lot about broken hearts the last couple of days. And how much strength it takes to risk again.

But risk-taking can become habitual and lose meaning. It can become less an act of courage and more an act of self-protection: if I risk vulnerability every time I'm faced with an opportunity to love someone...is that living from my higher self? Or is that habituating myself to rejection so it takes away the meaning of it? And then...is it really risk? Or is it just covering up scar tissue with more scar tissue so that eventually I'm cutting off the metaphoric blood flow to my arteries?

I don't know if any of that makes sense, but I'm coming to the conclusion that taking it slowly when you're used to just leaping into relationships with people -- that can be an act of courage and risk. And wisdom. Particularly if you already care about the other person's well-being.
Unknown Content - 16 years, 10 months, 9 days ago

It was night all the way home. The storefronts on Pike are black in the daylight; at night, they are a warm black, lit from within, jewel-like. I saw a skinny young man trying on a blazer; people drinking coffee; antique furniture lit by dim lamps. I got off the bus downtown, at Nordstrom's, where the latest window is of a woman dressed up for some kind of formal holiday function, sitting with her legs wide apart and shoulders hunched forward, wearing a black petticoat and gold accessories. She looked disgruntled. The holiday music piped to the outside of the store vied with Beck on my iPod. I turned up the iPod. From the corner where I stood I could see the carousel a block away -- all bright lights and painted horses. The bus I got on drove past it. It had large panels all the way around it, and on each panel a single word: Qwest. And a company logo.
Unknown Content - 16 years, 10 months, 10 days ago

I sat in the back of the bus on the way home. I was listening to my iPod. There were more people on the bus with headphones than with cell phones. Two guys talked about Cheney and his construction of reality and the first Matrix movie. A woman covered her face with a scarf, and I was envious. If we were under some kind of mild biochemical attack, people with scarves would have an extra layer of protection. In the back of the bus, we were under mild biochemical attack. A tall guy with a baseball cap sat back there with us. He covered his face with his cap to light a cigarette. I moved up to the middle of the bus. Nobody ever said anything about him smoking.
Unknown Content - 16 years, 10 months, 10 days ago

One Murder or Two?

I don't actually know if they were crows, but downtown was full of birds today, hundreds of them -- maybe even thousands -- lighting in all the trees on 3rd between Stewart and Pike. They were so loud that their collective chirping drowned out an ambulance siren a few blocks away. This was in the still-dark hour between 6 and 7 this morning. The effect: eerie.
Unknown Content - 16 years, 10 months, 10 days ago

When thrown in a rage, a scone flies 62 miles per hour faster than a seagull. A muffin can be compressed by a fist with the same force under which they test astronauts. This is known in some circles as "a waste of pastry".
Downtown last night, I saw a man approach a tree and rip a branch about two feet long from it. He stuffed it into his bag and went on. The same corner, the night before, I saw some Scandinavian-looking teenagers clustered around a police car, trying on his hat and taking pictures of each other. He was chuckling, but I noticed his hand was on his nightstick, even as he posed with a pretty blond girl.
When you cry hard after seven months of only occasional tearing up, it is not always a relief. Sometimes it is a precursor to further self-flagellation.
No one deserves to be on this planet. No one deserves good things, or bad things. Since when is it about deserving?
Professional victimhood: if I'm so good at it, why doesn't it pay more?
Unknown Content - 16 years, 10 months, 10 days ago