And exhale slowly

Being really busy distracts me from outside thoughts, but I think it's actually a good thing since I tend to organize my free time better if I'm working. At the same time, with this particular job I took on I have so much to think about that it gives me restless sleep, and I tend to forget to eat during the day because so much has to be done. I'm not liking the path that's going down, but on the other hand I've put myself to bed when tired.

The job I took on is at my many-times previous employer, a community and housing nonprofit, of various positions to help internally relocate and renovate the staff on site. It's really been 30+ years since the main office has been updated, and now much of the renovation is urgent. With some major deadlines included. In short, much juggling of information and needs that grow daily, and all the responsibility of organizing it and putting the plan I set in motion forward. This is my second week on the job, and it encompasses nearly all my thoughts. I'm a little tired, and don't remember what I spent my time doing by the end of the day, but have a list to organize for the following days by that point. I am literally kept so busy that I don't have time to think as I go, just think about what I am currently doing.

The graphic design work for this same place is at completion; I just need to confirm and see the printing through, and get my last check.


To take away from all the stress, and to get our laundry done, Jon and I went back to my parents' house this weekend and last week to take Pavlov out. It's not unusual, but we took him down to the cliff beach again to enjoy the weather, where we came across a dead sea lion someone tried to bury, and hung out drawing pictures in the sand.

Split end jabber

shocking how the waves
break and spray

scatter pieces of direction every which way;
a road map torn of determined hands, confetti for confusion

and only freer when the route now taken
is the route made

All I ever hear is Blah, Blah, Blah

This part of town is post-industrial: all the old warehouses that border the residential strip—a main road sets the boundaries parallel some blocks down—are now offices, and the majority of people bustling about are today's up-and-comers. Flowers line the sidewalks, not far away is a community garden, and real estate is turned around, one house into two flats the going rate, while original residents are turned out...yessir, gentrification and progress.

That is the setting, these are the people: a pair, man and woman, returning from or leaving for their lunch break. They walk a brisk, predetermined beat, the no-nonsense pacing of experienced team members in a firm, of young professionals, of executive hopefuls. So quickly they trot past in their "casual" rolled-up collared shirts that they barely leave enough for me to go on, but enough it is, enough for you to understand so much of them with so little:

"This is the boss." It's a question from him, but he states it.

She shakes her mane unnecessarily, for emphasis. "...Yeah, the bitch-boss didn't respond to the email I sent her..."

Trottrottrot.

* * * * *

Later in the day I'm sitting on BART, and the girls behind me are chattering nonstop about Mike, and how she missed him, and she can't believe that she'd even miss him, but she does. It's incredible how she misses him.

And oh, isn't that great?

And oh, not as great as you think (insert this overexuberant laugh).

But that is totally sweet.

Yeah, totally.

Did I mention a Californian accent, that is just a slightly watered down version of the Valley Girl? Don't forget the Californian accent.

Man, it is great. No wait, it's totally sweet. I can't decide which.

A day and a half later:

Ringing ears are no longer appreciated. Whether related or not, I've been feeling strange sensations from between my shoulder blades up to the base of my neck, and this plus the squishing where my head meets my neck gives me unpleasant swells of nausea. Since waking.

Upon visiting a pulmonary specialist a week ago, I have, once again, been diagnosed with being asthmatic. Only. Which increasingly had become less reassuring with previous and consecutive visits to the health clinic, but has finally put me at ease of mind. The downside is that I am pretty much susceptible to (or at least, in the past five months, which seems indicative of years to come) having my asthma triggered by bullshit.

This may strictly pertain to having spent time living in the city, but it's not the first city I've lived in full of exhaust fumes. And apparently I am allergic to much more than I have ever possibly imagined. Unsurprisingly. Either way, a good dosage of budesonide corticosteroid has me gag/phlegm/gasp/wheeze free. Since the day I started taking it. Considering that it's been nigh impossible for me to breathe like a normal person the past five months, this means a lot to me. I definitely do not take the act of breathing for granted.

It also means I can run around as much as possible. Being on-and-off, heavily-winded sick for five months can really turn muscle into cushion. I exaggerate, but barely.

Last night was toiling at the stove for a shot at real red beans and rice (+++++). I feel like I should have taken the celery and bell pepper out after frying and returning them closer to the end of the cooking time; they pretty much mushed into the sauce. But the flavor was great, and the texture otherwise excellent.

This morning? "Blueberry Boy Bait"/blueberry coffee cake (+++++). It tastes great, but I am never going to use two sticks of butter again. I light and airy crumb; it was "light" but more like an oily, airy sponge. Blah.

A-and Beginner's Bread, which worked up in a cinch but came out a little dense (+++++). This was entirely my fault, though, because I wasn't checking in on it when it rose. It's a lot warmer in my sister's apartment (especially with the gas stove/oven) than I'm accustomed to for baking yeast-included recipes, so the dough rose at a phenomenal rate. The crumb's stretched to hell and back, but it managed to maintain a healthy crust and decent texture. It's pretty plain bread, though, and you can make at least two loaves out of one packet of yeast, so I don't think I'll be likely to make it again any time soon, not without finagling with the ingredients.

After spending so many hours in the kitchen, I'm about ready to eat leftovers and lie down.

Electric Live

Twenty hours later and I still hear the residual ringing in my ear.

The Japanther show was awesome. Except for the obnoxious violent/superdrunk-moshing assholes of both sexes.

Also, Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson is an excellent book with ripping, violent style. Refreshing, after all this other reading I've been slogging through.

Goddamn the world is scary place

And quietly, almost under the radar due to cost, human hands hungry for godlike powers, tinkered away at pets. Look at the design. It's as slick as a Crate and Barrel catalogue.

Now, now. It is interesting that something like this could have stemmed from the mind of a person allergic to animals who'd longed for a pet as a child, but some of these things...well. I am a firm believer that people should not try to control the workings of nature on a basic level. Killing off something in the name of survival is one thing, be it organism or virus. But, y'know. Trying to control the weather, or messing around with DNA. Bad business. Not our business. It doesn't serve a real purpose, just a selfish one; it doesn't further our survival. As much as I enjoy the documentaries on the Discovery Channel on how scientists have found what bits of genetic information can bring back dinosaur attributes in birds (giving them teeth, scales, etc), it doesn't have any purpose other than to serve our curiosity.

Anyway. Non-allergenic pets. Great idea, as an idea, but expenses aside, c'mon. Don't we have better things to do with our time, more important issues affecting society than the need for a pet? I'm quite allergic to just about everything, but still. I'm not going to bend everyone to my will. Jesus, why do humans want to play god so badly?

They don't go into heavy detail, but it's all genetic modification. I mean, they were listed as one of the Best Inventions of 2006 by TIME magazine.

And you can even order a TITAN Family Protection Dog online! (It's a German Shepherd, by the way.) $85,000, guys. Only! Don't worry, they have finance options.

Don't forget the Ashera GD, which is a cross of domestic and wild cats for that leopard-like 30 lb cat.

They also try to promote their spaying and neutering of their "products" as a hand in preventing overpopulation. A thinly veiled attempt to distract us from the fact that they don't want everyone to really be able to own a pet, just buy one from them for outrageous prices for all the genetic bullshit. Otherwise, why not just let us breed them?

I get the hunch that to also cover their asses from possible and maybe even predicted backfiring in the future, they lack any printed material on their work. Much, much easier to erase a whole website, right?

I'm sure we all know one day that Build-a-Baby's will be the rage, beyond even what Gattaca envisions. I will be able to have blue-eyed, red haired babies with muscles of steel and hypersensitive hearing. Joyous.

Novocaine for the Soul

I found out a friend of mine shot himself in the head a few days ago.

I haven't wrapped my head around it. Mostly I want to know what weighed so heavily on him that he would do it...I can think of a few things leading up to it, but still...not him. It's pretty shocking, disquieting, sad. I haven't found tears. He's on the other side of the continent, it seems so far removed.

I've been to so many family funerals...this is the first time a friend of mine's died. I haven't worked out that he'll never be again. No chance of ever seeing him again, or talking to him, or running around.

That's it. No more Karl.