Friday, August 17, 2007
Future plans
So I found this organization that does reforestation projects in south america. they ride horses and resemble a gypsy caravan roaming around and planting trees. i am going to join them. there is a rainbow gathering in november in mexico that they are doing work at, and i am going to go there and see how things would work out. then go back to chicago for a bit then run away to join the nomads united caravan. it's like a dream come true. i think that i am just going to say fuck saving up a ton of money. if i were to die tomorrow, what would i do today? work in a stuffy office to save money for the future? I've never lived the future, i've only lived today. so today, i am going to do what it is that i would do if it were my last day on earth. and roaming around south america on horseback planting trees sounds amazing.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Who am I?
A question I've been pondering lately. Well, all the time.
My passions: traveling, world cultures, film, writing, photography, poetry, glass blowing, poi, making things.
How can I turn my passions into a career? This is the question that has been forefront in my mind for the last couple of years.
I want to travel and make art as a career. Art doesn't pay much, so that must be on my time. But that's ok, because I love it. I can freelance travel articles while I travel, I can blow glass at my home base, I can spin poi anywhere, watch and critique films all over, freelance my travel photography, write poetry anywhere, make clothes at my home base. While I am based in Chicago, working a good job, I can pay off my loans, save money to travel with, and get some good co-op experience. One day, maybe I can start my own co-op in Portland and a hostel in another country. I could possibly work at airtreks from anywhere. not sure about that. eugenia was from new zealand...What I'd really like is to work hard for 6 months and travel hard for six months. I need a seasonal good-paying job....
Sometimes I kinda feel that I am selling out by going for this tech support job. but i would really like to travel debt free, and build up a savings. but what if i die in the next two years and i didn't get to travel anywhere else? i would be in the pursuit of my goals, but maybe there was a shortcut to my goals. i feel like this one is both realistic and is the best long-term option. i wish i could live more in the present. be broke and nomadic and wander. i still haven't figured out how to travel the world without any money. one day...
In other news, I am getting quite excited for my move to Chicago. I am planning out my room, trying to figure out where i'm going to put in my glass studio. April says it's too cold in the shed during the winter, although i seem to think my kiln and the torch will put off enough heat. and i can layer up. the bathroom is too tiny. i could rent out a studio for about 300 a month, and that would be cool, but an extra 300 dollar expense. but it would be cool...my own little space. i can put a hammock in there....it could be my funky little space....
My passions: traveling, world cultures, film, writing, photography, poetry, glass blowing, poi, making things.
How can I turn my passions into a career? This is the question that has been forefront in my mind for the last couple of years.
I want to travel and make art as a career. Art doesn't pay much, so that must be on my time. But that's ok, because I love it. I can freelance travel articles while I travel, I can blow glass at my home base, I can spin poi anywhere, watch and critique films all over, freelance my travel photography, write poetry anywhere, make clothes at my home base. While I am based in Chicago, working a good job, I can pay off my loans, save money to travel with, and get some good co-op experience. One day, maybe I can start my own co-op in Portland and a hostel in another country. I could possibly work at airtreks from anywhere. not sure about that. eugenia was from new zealand...What I'd really like is to work hard for 6 months and travel hard for six months. I need a seasonal good-paying job....
Sometimes I kinda feel that I am selling out by going for this tech support job. but i would really like to travel debt free, and build up a savings. but what if i die in the next two years and i didn't get to travel anywhere else? i would be in the pursuit of my goals, but maybe there was a shortcut to my goals. i feel like this one is both realistic and is the best long-term option. i wish i could live more in the present. be broke and nomadic and wander. i still haven't figured out how to travel the world without any money. one day...
In other news, I am getting quite excited for my move to Chicago. I am planning out my room, trying to figure out where i'm going to put in my glass studio. April says it's too cold in the shed during the winter, although i seem to think my kiln and the torch will put off enough heat. and i can layer up. the bathroom is too tiny. i could rent out a studio for about 300 a month, and that would be cool, but an extra 300 dollar expense. but it would be cool...my own little space. i can put a hammock in there....it could be my funky little space....
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Roaches
The three monstrous roaches i killed in the basement were big and gross enough to (almost) make me move back to Washington.
I went downstairs to get a much needed glass of ice water, when i turn on the light and see a two inch black hard bodied roach and the queen of all wasps doing a mating dance on the white portion of our black and white checkered tiled floors. i think about avoiding them and going back upstairs. but i'll know they're there. waiting, in the darkness. waiting, for...whatever roaches wait for.
so i suck it up and grab a can of roach killer for the laundry room. i read the directions. "Spray 12 inches away from surface." I go right up to the little buggers and spray at them from as close as I'm willing to get to them. it's about 10 inches. damnit. they separate. i'm forced to spray one, then the other. the waspy-thing gets away under the black reclining chair under the wall of mismatched coffee cups. but the other one, the monster roach, is mine. i can see its back legs start to freeze up, and it's desperately trying to drag itself to safety on two little front legs. it's no use. i spray it again from 4 inches away; it's less scary now that it's dying. lying in a puddle of chemically smelling killer juice, the bug twitches its final death rattle and stops moving.
that was a close one. as i ponder how to pick up the corpse, i turn to put the bottle of bug spray back in the laundry room. another roach scuttles out in front of me. i jump. shit! how many of these things are down here? i run after it with the spray. it dies faster than the first. turning on my heel, scanning the floor for any more creepy-crawlies, i spy a third roach in the corner next the to the large chalkboard where we sign up for cooking dinner. i spray this one, and it runs toward my vulnerable, exposed feet. i vigorously spray it from my direction, causing it to run the opposite way. my heart is pounding. my eyes dart from side to side, looking for anything moving, anything trying to hide in the squares of black that dot the kitchen floor. i imagine that my spraying has awoken every roach in the basement, and that they are all running toward me in the center of the room, trying to escape the poisonous fumes. i quickly grab my glass and fill it with ice cubes, carefully trying not to use the finger i used to press the button on the spray can.
i look around the kitchen. it looks like a battlefield. corpses litter the ground. how to dispose of the bodies? I go back to the laundry room, replace the bottle of spay and grab a dustpan and a broom. i sweep up the first little bugger, push the dustpan across the room and push the second one in. i catch a glimpse of another dead bug, but one that i didn't kill. i shudder at the thought of stepping on it and not even knowing, not hearing the crunch or seeing the guts spill out the cracks in its armor.
i touch it with my broom to scoop it into the dustpan, and it flies into the nearest dark place. i rush past that part of the kitchen and sweep up the third one. should i just leave it here? i wonder. i don't want to pick it up. haven't i done enough? i mean, i killed them, didn't i?
in the end, i dump the bugs in the trash but can't bear to be in the roach infested kitchen any longer and i leave the broom next to the garbage. i turn out the light, grab my water, and run up the groaning, squeaking stairs to the third floor, where the biggest problem is tiny ants exploring my room for crumbs and forgotten packs of raisins in my backpack. without my glasses on, i can't even see them, and i don't know if i step on them.
this i can handle.
I went downstairs to get a much needed glass of ice water, when i turn on the light and see a two inch black hard bodied roach and the queen of all wasps doing a mating dance on the white portion of our black and white checkered tiled floors. i think about avoiding them and going back upstairs. but i'll know they're there. waiting, in the darkness. waiting, for...whatever roaches wait for.
so i suck it up and grab a can of roach killer for the laundry room. i read the directions. "Spray 12 inches away from surface." I go right up to the little buggers and spray at them from as close as I'm willing to get to them. it's about 10 inches. damnit. they separate. i'm forced to spray one, then the other. the waspy-thing gets away under the black reclining chair under the wall of mismatched coffee cups. but the other one, the monster roach, is mine. i can see its back legs start to freeze up, and it's desperately trying to drag itself to safety on two little front legs. it's no use. i spray it again from 4 inches away; it's less scary now that it's dying. lying in a puddle of chemically smelling killer juice, the bug twitches its final death rattle and stops moving.
that was a close one. as i ponder how to pick up the corpse, i turn to put the bottle of bug spray back in the laundry room. another roach scuttles out in front of me. i jump. shit! how many of these things are down here? i run after it with the spray. it dies faster than the first. turning on my heel, scanning the floor for any more creepy-crawlies, i spy a third roach in the corner next the to the large chalkboard where we sign up for cooking dinner. i spray this one, and it runs toward my vulnerable, exposed feet. i vigorously spray it from my direction, causing it to run the opposite way. my heart is pounding. my eyes dart from side to side, looking for anything moving, anything trying to hide in the squares of black that dot the kitchen floor. i imagine that my spraying has awoken every roach in the basement, and that they are all running toward me in the center of the room, trying to escape the poisonous fumes. i quickly grab my glass and fill it with ice cubes, carefully trying not to use the finger i used to press the button on the spray can.
i look around the kitchen. it looks like a battlefield. corpses litter the ground. how to dispose of the bodies? I go back to the laundry room, replace the bottle of spay and grab a dustpan and a broom. i sweep up the first little bugger, push the dustpan across the room and push the second one in. i catch a glimpse of another dead bug, but one that i didn't kill. i shudder at the thought of stepping on it and not even knowing, not hearing the crunch or seeing the guts spill out the cracks in its armor.
i touch it with my broom to scoop it into the dustpan, and it flies into the nearest dark place. i rush past that part of the kitchen and sweep up the third one. should i just leave it here? i wonder. i don't want to pick it up. haven't i done enough? i mean, i killed them, didn't i?
in the end, i dump the bugs in the trash but can't bear to be in the roach infested kitchen any longer and i leave the broom next to the garbage. i turn out the light, grab my water, and run up the groaning, squeaking stairs to the third floor, where the biggest problem is tiny ants exploring my room for crumbs and forgotten packs of raisins in my backpack. without my glasses on, i can't even see them, and i don't know if i step on them.
this i can handle.
I'm sick of sweating
it's so hot.
it's 1:03 in the morning and it's so hot i can't sleep. the sweat pours down my face and tickles my cheeks and roll down into the corners of my lips. i can feel it trickle down the left side of my neck, down my back along the side of my spine. i wipe the moisture from my forehead with the back of my hand. my eyes close. i yawn, my mouth open wide. my eyes roll around as they open, slowly, as if they are stuck together. i yawn again.
this is the week everyone told me about. the week where it's so hot you don't want to do anything. you don't want to go out because any physical exertion (ie, walking to the bus stop, wearing clothes) will cause trailers of sweat to pour from your body and dehydrate you in an instant while you melt into a colorful puddle of patchwork, your spiral bone earrings and glass necklace the only things that don't evaporate into the humid mist that covers chicago.
this is where air-conditioning comes in handy. but, as sophia said at dinner tonight, it's not good for the body to go from humid, hot but fresh air to freezing cold, dry and stale freon shit. and, all that recycled air is as good for you as a bunch of sick people on a 14 hour flight.
besides, it's an energy hog.
oh, but i yearn to wrap myself in my silky green comforter, to cuddle with my pillow and drift off to sleep. i'd love to turn the aircon down to 18 degrees celsius and put on comfty flannel pants and an oversized mens shirt to sleep in. i miss the fresh, crisp summer breezes of the northwest. i miss the way it can be cold enough to wear a poncho at night in the middle of july.
i yawn again and wake up from my daydream. as the cold breezes quickly fade from memory, the thought of anything thick against my skin makes the sweat produce twice as fast on the back of my neck. i turn my fan up to 3.
it's 1:03 in the morning and it's so hot i can't sleep. the sweat pours down my face and tickles my cheeks and roll down into the corners of my lips. i can feel it trickle down the left side of my neck, down my back along the side of my spine. i wipe the moisture from my forehead with the back of my hand. my eyes close. i yawn, my mouth open wide. my eyes roll around as they open, slowly, as if they are stuck together. i yawn again.
this is the week everyone told me about. the week where it's so hot you don't want to do anything. you don't want to go out because any physical exertion (ie, walking to the bus stop, wearing clothes) will cause trailers of sweat to pour from your body and dehydrate you in an instant while you melt into a colorful puddle of patchwork, your spiral bone earrings and glass necklace the only things that don't evaporate into the humid mist that covers chicago.
this is where air-conditioning comes in handy. but, as sophia said at dinner tonight, it's not good for the body to go from humid, hot but fresh air to freezing cold, dry and stale freon shit. and, all that recycled air is as good for you as a bunch of sick people on a 14 hour flight.
besides, it's an energy hog.
oh, but i yearn to wrap myself in my silky green comforter, to cuddle with my pillow and drift off to sleep. i'd love to turn the aircon down to 18 degrees celsius and put on comfty flannel pants and an oversized mens shirt to sleep in. i miss the fresh, crisp summer breezes of the northwest. i miss the way it can be cold enough to wear a poncho at night in the middle of july.
i yawn again and wake up from my daydream. as the cold breezes quickly fade from memory, the thought of anything thick against my skin makes the sweat produce twice as fast on the back of my neck. i turn my fan up to 3.
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