From here, where?

Words used to fall out of me. When I was in high school, if I had to wait for something for longer than five minutes I’d spend the time writing. Sure, it wasn’t profound shit or anything but at least it was some sort of output. These days I’m just constantly seeking input. Don’t have to work? Sit on the internet and look at stupid shit all day! Have questions about what’s going on in the world? Watch John Stewart and Stephen Colbert dissect the world so you won’t have to come up with your own cynical analyses! Have goals and responsibilities for the day? Definitely a good time to pick up a novel and escape instead!

So, I want to talk about my life.

Right now it’s raining, Alex is at work, I’m at home, and I’ve accomplished exactly nothing today, aside from making Alex and I breakfast and running to the store for cream, bacon, and a donut. I’ve had a donut problem lately. I buy one every time I go to the store. They are $.69! Sometimes $.50, when Safeway’s feeling generous! And they are sweet and full of simple sugars and I have a serious problem with resisting them. An apple fritter is like a reward for subjecting myself to leaving the house, probably getting rained on, and braving the harsh lighting and forced social interaction that Safeway provides.

The really fucked up thing about it, though, is that once I leave the house I’m happy to be outside, on my bike, and looking at trees. It’s hard for me to not smile at least three times at the store, because, shit, I think I just like Americans. And yet, I need to “reward” myself for getting out of the house? Such bullshit tricks my brain tries to pull. And I’m on to it, and know how bullshit and rationalized a lot of my behavior is, but still I persist in self destruction. Alex doesn’t hold me accountable at all. When he sits around and does nothing I get all moody at him because why isn’t he fucking doing something?! But when he comes home and I start apologizing for not having gotten to picking up, or getting what we need at the store, or taking care of paperwork, he just says it’s fine and not to worry about it. Which is a relief, but also, fuck, hold me a little accountable. Is that too much to ask for in a relationship? Maybe it is. Because I’m an adult and should obviously just be able to hold my own damned self accountable.

It’s been a struggle.

I did manage to get a job after 2 weeks of living here. I work at a chocolate cafe. I fucking love my job. We sell like sixty different kinds of truffles and I have to taste them in order to give good recommendations to customers, so that’s been a fun process. I also get to make espresso drinks, gourmet hot chocolates, and little shots of single-origin drinking chocolates. It does not suck. I am enjoying the customer service aspect and loving the fact that it’s stress-free. But I have been working about ten hours a week, which is brutal. We are supposed to be getting full-time as the holidays ramp up and I really hope that’s the case, because otherwise I’ll have to get another part-time job while I’m figuring out the real “What’s next?”

I applied to this business plan editing firm (which, I know, sounds awful, but they seemed pretty young and hip and awesome, and I really would like a chance to learn about writing effective business plans) but I am resigned to the fact that I won’t hear from them. I’ve always edited things intuitively, so there are a lot of grammar points that I understand but don’t know the words for. On top of that, there are a lot of grammar points that I simply don’t follow because I never paid attention in English class and therefore failed to learn them.

Portland:

I ride my bike to 98% of the places I go.

I bought a blue hat the other day, and lipstick, and I’m looking forward to feeling feminine and sophisticated in them as I walk around downtown and admire all the beautiful freaks.

The girls here wear leather boots with at least an inch of rubber between the feet of their patterned woolen tights and the rainbow-surfaced puddles on the ground.

I get to bike over the red Broadway bridge on my way to work, and I always spit over the side of it into the Willamette River as I try to steal glances at the other bridges to left and right, the barges underneath me, the ducks on the water near the river’s edge.

There’s a Swiss restaurant near our house. I went in without knowing what Swiss cuisine is like. There are a lot of german sausage and snitzels involved, and they are all smothered in butter and cream, as per the French.

The house next door to us is small and bright blue with white trim and a white picket fence. There’s a chair on the porch with a comforter on it. The comforter pattern is the same as one I had on my bed when I was younger.

I sit on the porch every morning, rain or shine, and grind my coffee beans with a hand grinder and watch the eleven year-old boy across the street go to school with his dad. The other morning the boy stopped short on the porch before walking down the stairs and said, “Yes, it’s the moment I’ve been waiting for!” He was looking at a dead mouse on the ground. “The cat left us a present!”

It does rain a lot. No one was lying about that.

<3clea