KEEPING UP ON THIS SHIT!
- WORDS CAN’T EVEN DESCRIBE HOW AMAZING IT IS TO SLEEP IN MY OWN BED AGAIN. After having my bed unused, useless and stored on its ends since June, I am finally feeling like my bed is a place of respite and retreat again. My new (gigantic) room gets such nice light, easy to wake up in, soft and grey. I’m so into it. Waking up slowly, I am sprawled, my limbs pointing in all four corners like a compass, or that one DaVinci drawing only with pajamas. Lucifer is stretched out on his side on the floor, groaning like the old man that he is. I realize I am smiling.
- I’ve been driving too much lately, so opted to ride my bike to a prospective employment opportunity in NW Portland. The bike ride there was quick and easy, overcast and cool temperatures that are ideal. At one point I was riding off the Broadway bridge onto NW Lovejoy, and as I was speeding down the ramp, I saw a one dollar bill stuck on the wet pavement of the bike lane. It didn’t occur to me what it was until I was a good 20-30 feet past it, but once I did I found myself pumping my brakes a little bit, questioning whether I should go back and get it, not because I needed a dollar, but because I have somewhat of a superstition regarding finding money on the ground that has been kind of ingrained in me against my will. I couldn’t help thinking that maybe that could’ve been the dollar that changed my luck around, but it seemed foolish to be unsafe in bike traffic to go back and get it. It also made me think of this guy I used to know, an ex-friend, who was a money-driven, swindler-esque and “get-rich-quick”-ish sort of braggart, and a self-proclaimed “ladies man” (ew). His shady behavior ultimately being one of many of the catalysts for the end of our friendship, I knew that he would risk traffic to flounder for a dollar. All of these thoughts rushed into my brain as my fingers twitched on the brake-levers. I spit the bad taste out of my mouth and kept pedaling, leaving the dollar behind.
- I went to the DMV to get a copy of my driving record. I should not have gone to the DMV downtown, as the wait was an hour and a half for a two minute request. I will never get that time back. It would’ve been so worth it to ride to the Kenton neighborhood, where there is a separate window for little tasks like mine, no test takers, no registration re-dos, none of that stuff. Just the quick and painless line for renewals and driving records. BUT, I sat there in the downtown DMV, next to people who struck up conversations about their jobs at McDonalds (I sound so smug, but at least they have a job), and I feel a little guilty until they start loudly comparing anti-psychotic medications that they are on. GODIAMSUCHAHATER and I am soooo not going to heaven because I can feel myself judging them. Ug. I play Solitaire on my smart phone with its touch screen with a fury and try to tune them out. Eventually my number is called and I am free to go, packing all of my first-world privileges in my waterproof bike bag as I leave.
- SCARRED a little by the DMV (tongue-in-cheek), I ride through rainy downtown and take a wrong turn, forcing me up onto the sidewalk for about a half-block. Knowing that this is a) illegal and b) a jerky-lame bicyclist maneuver, I coast very slowly and carefully, shameful, and knowingly in the wrong. A couple, haggard and weathered, like they’ve seen enough hard times to be anywhere between 22 and 45 but still look older, are sitting on a picnic bench with large dirty backpacks and razor scooters. As I pass, the guy snarls at me “You’re not supposed to be riding up here, bitch.” I am in the frame of mind where my delivery is near-perfect: “I know,” I say, “thanks for understanding that things sometimes don’t go how you planned them.” With that, I hopped my bike off the curb and merged with the traffic, and it’s damn near a movie moment.
- I took Lucifer on a walk to Beaumont Market to get some beer for Nate and I. It’s the cutest little grocery store I ever did see and it was awesome to walk into their beer cooler room and see the most amazing display of artisan beers I ever did see from such a little tiny grocery store. Immediately at eye level upon walking into the cooler, there was the Uinta Double IPA, with the custom Leia Bell label, greeting me like a friend. Greeting me like it were Leia.
It made me feel proud and homesick all at once. Leia is an amazing woman and mother, but also happens to be a brilliant and humble artist in her own right. Friends in beer coolers. The label that Trent Call did was in there too, but I don’t know him personally so it didn’t have the same effect and gripping nostalgia that Leia’s label did. However, I hear he is a great dude. Beaumont Market also had some Epic Brewery beer in the cooler also, and while I don’t know any of those Epic people personally either, those beers have participated in some memorable (or shall I say forgettable) moments as well. Cheers for getting these to Oregon.
Another day, another dollar, smashed onto the bike lane of NW Lovejoy. Finders-keepers, I am rich with fortune. “Be brave, young lovers, wherever you are…”
-posted by Mary