jacktellslies

Yesterday we went to the store where Ray, the king of the specialty items and a master of decadent queer hospitality, forced upon us exciting new cheeses, the most perfect dry and crumbly chocolate with hazelnuts, roasted tomatoes, and other perfections. Strawberries and blackberries were cheap, and we'd been given fantastic rosemary bread by our bakery friend, and strong but smooth home-made red wine by a kind customer. Three of us devoured all of it.

I kept telling them that this is what waking up in hostels in strange old lands feels like while Jon Stewart stood up for bastards, after a fashion, and Debbie and I spoke of Slaughterhouse Five and Irish literature, the ways that history and language work their way in, the racism and the changes, and the promise of the future of words from that place. Parker wants to go there. I never want to leave.

The three of us plan. I more than qualify for Canadian residency. They are close to the edge but make it. We'll tear down and fix houses there. Whether or not Pittsburgh happens in between is uncertain. Beyond that the world is all very open, but there are so many places in which we'd like to work, so many places we want to work into us.

Terrance and our bakery girl came later in the evening, and Bill came after that. She deserves a name, I suppose. It is Michelle. Terrance likes Paris Hilton very much, but we forgive him, and Michelle is a Jem and the Holograms fan, so we like her. A question: we were forming our boy band, Fingerbang, and an argument ensued regarding which of us is the tough one. Parker claimed deserving because her face is more pierced than mine, however, being the alpha male, I stated the obvious: I can make all of them cry. I win. Michelle argued that she wasn't sure that I knew her well enough just yet to make her cry. Did she intend to flirt with me, or did she only do it by accident?

The wine was strong, as I'd mentioned. There came a time when I realized that one day all of my friends would die. I cried in the bathroom, but a half of an hour later I was in the kitchen with Debbie and laughing because in the midst of my crying I'd come to an existential crisis, a realization so shattering that I instantly and completely forgot what it had been. She agreed that it must have been a good one.

So, I've been terribly happy, but I remain a tad disturbed. I've been forgetting appointments. Twice this week I've arrived at work for a shift that was not mine and had to return later in the day. I've been taking my medicine at all the wrong times, and I think that these things may be related. I am thinking of taking a stronger dose. I am making small changes to try to fix things, but I am uncertain regarding what to do about the larger problem. It is, in part, a result of my unstable schedule. I work at a different time every day, and often this is fun, because it creates something like metrical requirements for social gatherings, and I so like finding freedom within constraints, but I am ashamed to say that I am having a difficult time of managing my attendance at my grocery store job.

In a larger sense, again, I think of myself as very happy, but so often I break, stuck on some small thing that a day later barely matters at all. I'm better than I was. But this needs to end. But my time with others has been so good. My time with myself has been so good, too. I get so much done. I clean, and I work as much as I can on furniture in a basement so cramped, and I read everything I can find, and always for free, or for the cost of the internet. I adore public domain. So is it the uncertainty of my crowded house? Is it all a problem of chemistry? Or are things good enough that I've time to work on the unfinished bits? Even with a tattoo for a map, my location within this maze is so often unclear. Life is worth itself. Yes.