Blogoversary '08: Love and Recourse


Let's just do this.
[10:21 pm]

I didn't used to be much of a planner when it came to air activity, meaning I have been known to pay in cash at the counter for a flight, or when on a bit of a budget scan the calendar for the day exactly two weeks from the day in question to save fifty bucks or so. I kind of miss that me--that balls to the wall commitmentphobe with a generous sprinkling of Peter Pan Syndrome Me that spent so much time being dissatisfied with where she was and where she was going all at the same time, who bought plane tickets on little more than a whim and never thought about things like her schedule at work or the health of her cat.
Now I think about my schedule at work and the health of my cat, so I'm stuck scanning the calendar weeks or months in advance to plan even this next coming one--a six day jaunt in my hometown. Don't get me wrong, I like me. I like planning and calculated me, but it's all of these weeks in between purchasing a flight and actually boarding a plane that have become trying in the past year or so. It's torture--absolute torture--and everyday in the meantime feels like a standstill.

No. I take that back. It feels like a daydream in which I imagine everything I'm going to do there, and in almost every waking dream I have, I'm doing one sole thing.


I miss driving. Not having a car is the daily felt pang of sacrifice I feel despite everything the sacrifice is worth. I love driving, and it's most fun to me when the stereo is as loud as it can go, the sun is out, my sunglasses are on, and most importantly when I know exactly where I'm going. Enter my humble hometown.

Save the people who live there that I love dearly, this is the one saving grace of my little port-city birthtown. I've found as years pass that I live away, I don't often remember the fastest way somewhere (although I often enough do), but I can always get there. And when I'm back there, I like to spend my long effortless afternoons and evenings cruising up and down the hourglass and beyond--from Crystal's house in Ballard, then Pete's bar in Kenmore, and all the way back to Columbia City to Woody's. Morning may find me over and up to Lindsey's on Phinney Ridge. Down to Amanda's in the G. Up 99 to the 5 to Mountlake terrace to grab Lex from school. Down to Fremont to the record store. Over to the hill for two dollar wells or a pint 'n' shot at The Honey Hole, back to the Duck. Lather, rinse, repeat. Fill up. Back to the Duck, haha.

The first few days are incredible, when I'm so excited to do all the things I've missed: eat a Dick's Deluxe, drink an Oly draft, play Based On What or Beerdance or Stack It Up with someone who already knows how, to go to my favorite fucking record store, grab a six pack and go to The Lake or Hidden Beach. Yes, that's when it's still fun.
The first time I drive down Madison and seemingly blow a series of red lights only for them to turn green as the nose of my rental hits the crosswalk, it's exhilerating. The third time, not as fun, as is any time after 20 of approaching a yellow, kissing my two right forefingers, and reaching them to the roof as I glide under the traffic signal. It's a habit I aquired in highschool, kissing a yellow. Now it's about 75% compulsion, and irritating even to myself after a while.

I wont even really comment about driving by my highschool, which happens quite often as it's right off downtown and in a neighborhood that I drink and shop in often while in town. Let's just say that much like many things there, the first time is a novelty, and every time after that is like nails on my lost childhood.

Don't get me wrong, I love Seattle--but I love it because I know it. A few days is a perfect serving for me--just enough time to see everyone I love and not enough time to remember why I left. That way, it still leaves a perfect and fulfilling memory in my head.

Everyone always asks me when I visit when I'll move home, and I constantly have to remind them that home is Miami--that Seattle is my hometown, and that barring Peter Smith aquiring small pox or Crystal falling into a coma, I'm not coming back. Not to stay. Pick up all the drug habits you like, 'cause I'm out of that trade. I'm not coming back to support you in rehab or be your roomate 'cause you can't afford your house or even because you love me--and I'm serious.

That's the thing people never seem to get. That place is not okay for me! I mean, come on, it wasn't three years ago that you saw me pack all my things from an eleven month stint there and aimlessly drive to California not entirely knowing where I was going--why are we so soon to forget?
Okay, I say we, but clearly I exclude myself, as I remember quite readily, and I can still physically remember finally coming over the high arch of the Bay Bridge listening to Los Halos and extending both my hands through the sunroof of my vintage Volvo sports car and into the sunlight while thanking myself for making it out of there.

I still thank myself for getting out of there. Often while listening to Los Halos. Much like I am right now.

What I mean is that loving and losing is okay with me--I've come to terms with the fact that even with the purest and the best and the strongest loves, there are still deal breakers. Seattle handed me one too many winters that I decided I had to live without, so I left. You think that's not a conscious decision? Why can't I be able to love and lose without some snappy comeback from the peanut gallery?

So please, if you want to give me a blogoversary present this year, do me a solid:

Please leave me to the decisions I've made, because I have carefully planned them to pan out as such. Just like this. Don't expect me to love you on your terms, because I prefer both ours and mine to yours. Don't ever assume that just because I know you I love you, that if I've loved you I know you, or that because I love you I want to know you.
Not everyday sees a highway with sunglasses and sunshine, but all of these days are mine to spend be it with you or no. I have loved in all manners of ways and I am okay with what they are or were or might be in time and I am regretful of very little, and I will never regret neither the litteral nor the proverbial crossing the bay bridge with my palms in the sky.

My palms deserve sunshine now.

[11:59 pm]

[p.s.--There is one person who can absolutely and without question always take me for granted, and to her, yes, I owe my sincerest of apologies. Please accept this as yet another token of my undying loyalty:

Thank you, your order is complete!
Purchase Summary
2 Louis XIV Saturday, Mar 29, 2008 8:00 PM PDT GENERAL ADMISSION ALL AGES Will Call $26.00
Service Fee: $7.28
Total: $33.28
Please print this page for your records
Purchaser: Miranda Myricks

Event Location(s):
Chop Suey
1325 E Madison St.
Seattle, WA 98122

Lex, I hope it is a super sweet 16 indeed. Let's go big. xoxo--M]

1 comment:

huntsmanic said...

o.m.m.f.g : i need your formerly spoken-wordiful self to go to mcsweeneys, right away, and read OPEN-MIKE NIGHT,1:15 A.M.
it's not perfect comedy, but it perfectly fits with an ethos i've heard you describe in detail. m.