"I rarely answer my telephone, often forget to check voicemail, and can take a shockingly long time to return phone calls.
So sue me.
The telephone is intrusive, especially for introverts, whose brains don’t switch gears all that quickly. When we’re deep in thought, a ringing telephone is like a shrieking alarm clock in the morning.
And we often give bad phone—awkward, with pauses. We struggle without visual cues, and our tendency to ponder before we talk doesn’t play well on the telephone. Being stuck on a too-long call makes me want to chew off my own leg to escape.
Sometimes, if I’m feeling devil-may-care, I’ll pick up calls from far-flung friends who want to catch-up, But I more often let them go to voicemail and then make a date (via email) for us to talk. My friends understand.
Dislike of the phone is often presented as a moral failing. But honestly, it’s not the people on the phone we dislike, it’s the instrument of delivery."
This day 20 yrs ago, we had lunch with Ele at the 7 West cafe, and I remember being in quite a state... My band had put together an event at a place on Church that no longer exists, a cavernous and dilapidated old hall. There were a couple other bands and we'd actually sold a bunch of tickets. R and I had been playing games with each other, upping the ante and never quite saying what we meant... for specific reasons, for months, the better part of a year.
That evening, I decided somewhere in my mind, was going to be it. I had to tell her how I really felt. That I loved her, and not like a friend.
The gig was fairly epic - our usual mix of disaster and success. Hadley had an awful flu and sounded even worse than usual. I had attack cramps and so I used what I call 'teenage wisdom' and downed a mickey of tequila and 2 midol right before we hit the stage.
Obviously still wasted after our set, I hung around watching the next band for a bit and then after schlepping gear I ended up in R's car, drunk and desperate and determined (I'd decided she didn't feel the same way about me and was preparing for the worst) and we drove around, quite probably listening to Depeche Mode and Morrisey and The The.
We eventually parked in some random residential spot, and I remember saying it all, hunched towards the dash, cowering in anticipated rejection. And then she just reached out and put her hand on my back, and said she actually felt the same...
She drove me back to her place and we snuck upstairs to her room. We got into bed together and I will never ever forget the intense and perfect shock when she wordlessly leaned in and kissed me.
The second miracle occurred the next day when I discovered I didn't have even a trace of hangover... My first real kiss and my first experience of being drunk, I guess I got lucky.
20 years later, the irony is that we're celebrating this anniversary not with anything fancy (can't afford that right now) but by hiding out in her mum's house. Which feels strange but oddly appropriate somehow.
We've been through a lot in those years, much of it wonderful, some of it terrible and rough. The thing that's never changed for either of us is that electric feeling, the one that says 'You. It has to be you.' How very strange that it should last so long, and I wonder what the coming years will bring...
Tomorrow evening we get on a plane and come home. It's been 5 1/2 months, and it's gone by in what feels like a heartbeat. Looking back we're a long way from who we were when we came, and I'm sure that'll sink in even more once we're back.
Photo is Copyright Tom Kuali'i (who I met yesterday - he's a very nice fellow) This image was one that I collected off the internets along with another stunning wave image probably a couple of years ago, and I never knew the artist, let alone that it was actually taken here on the Big Island...
That includes a year of 'IsayKitsune', my infamous prose poetry concept album of a journal... at least I know I'm not alone - this comic artist I follow on Twitter n' Tumblr called Kate Leth, she's guilty of having committed a similar crime back in the day.
I went on this little time traveling episode of rereading old entries because of some AFP tweet doing the rounds about 'where were you on april 13 2006?'. Myself, I was on a fairly awesome road trip R and I took through the southwest just after her father died. We'd been to Nogales, I remember buying a huge bunch of paper flowers... and that has me hearkening back to my first trip there with someotherathena and her mom. That time I bought a cowskull which would adorn my teenage room replete with chile pepper lights and make our neighbours certain I practiced Satanism...
I read some more entries... sigh. The more things change the more they stay the same.
Some of my worries from back then have traded places with worries that are such dead ringers I have to sort of shrug in disaffected horror at my ability to perceive patterns like that from where I am now.
I could say I wish I was closer to achieving my goals... pretty much the same goals I'm doggedly chasing after now. I could also say I wish I'd followed through on some ideas I had back then. At the time I felt so critical, like everything I thought of seemed half-formed at best. Looking at it now I want to smack my former self and say 'NO! This idea right here, AS IS, it's good enough, it's fucking GREAT even, just make it for fucks sake!!!!'
There are other things I know I would've edited or recoloured memory wise if they weren't recorded here for posterity... (and thank the gods that on here I wrote for some kind of audience, such as it is and was, as my private journalings tend towards repetitive whining and endless odd self portraits)
I miss the days when this place really felt like a community for me. It made it feel like a cafe where we all got to hang out - especially wonderful since Credjeep and Min were far away physically for much of that time.
Of course, some people are gone. Other people just aren't talking to me. I comment far less on peoples journals. R all but abandoned LJ and stops by once or twice a year to flash her tits at the void...
I don't write demented Nuada Fanfic anymore, or spend my spare time scrolling through the latest pics of McAvoy. (oh yeah, I suppose I've merely traded that for gifs of Ben Whishaw on Tumblr;) see what I mean about patterns?
Well, it may not be what it once was, but I guess I like knowing it's all here, and that I can howl at the moon and three or so other people might even hear.
This place probably isn't what most people picture when you say you've run off to a tropical paradise for six months... far more in common with New Mexico or Northern Ontario, far less the idyllic hut on the beach with swaying palm trees. Still I'm not sure how I would've weathered everything that's gone down without it. I don't know why I need so much solitude, so much raw rocky space. I'll never know why there is a shard of desert lodged irretrievably in my heart, why I don't feel like I can thrive in the environment (a big city) into which I was born. The reason for being here, of course, and not in the desert, is the Ocean. The ever changing waves, from gentle pond to deadly beach, it's been such a gift to be able to lose some of my cares in them from time to time.
I'm glad that M is going - I wish R and I could be there too - we will be in our thoughts.
I've had so many thoughts and memories wash through me as I try to understand that yes, this IS real, this has happened.
I have so many good memories of her, so many pleasant visits and conversations that surprised me because I never thought myself much like her, and yet she seemed to understand, and support, and I rarely felt judged.
I was always worried about her in the struggling student days. I was so thrilled to see her as a wife and then a mother - it seemed to suit her in a way i could not have imagined. I am so sorry that she did not have more time to enjoy that phase of life, and even more so for her son and husband since they will have to go on without her.
I will try to write down some of my best memories for E and D before they get too faded.
It is difficult to accept that she will not be a part (except of course in that she is now a part of all of us) of celebrations and lives to come.
Dark blue velvet thrifted coat wispy tangled hair blond strands in fierce blue eyes
Lentil soup, garlic and strong black coffee fizzy water hard buttered bread
On the beach in the afternoon teenage chatter feminist meanderings on men and women
a later day, another beach in bathing suits holding Ernest, one hand each laughing in the late afternoon sun.