Photo Per Diem

My two favorite songs of all time are Israel Kamakawiwo Ole's version of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" and Rufus Wainwright's version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah". My favorite color is Olive Drab (cliche I know, but it makes my skin look good). My number is 5. My animal is a tiger though my favorite animal is a giraffe. My favorite place in the world is that spot just off of the Golden Gate Bridge where the Lone Sailor stands in the beginning of the evening which just so happens to be my favorite time because everyone seems to be out then, the workers, the families and the tourists.

How do I know all of this and yet it takes me days whether or not to pick out Matte spray paint or Semi-Matte spray paint and cardstock for projects where people will never see the colors? How can I agonize for hours over whether to use "the" or "an"? It's this kind of mindset that leads me to throw my hands up in the air, a sock at George and to just fuck it all.

It's too bad this photo is so boring because today was an exciting day, it was a good day despite sitting in a piece of gum and having to hide my butt for the remainder of the afternoon.

I'll extend on this tomorrow...as of right now, it's almost two in the morning and I need to start waking up earlier.

( Bonus Pictures )

The wind's been howling since he left, cool and strong from the West. It cuts through the slats in the window, moaning like a lover, long and wanting. There's a storm on the horizon, it's been threatening for days. I've been watching it sit there, stay there and brew a strange revenge there, waiting and watching for the right time. It makes me wonder how anyone on this stupid island can sleep.

I went beach hopping with Mom while the sky was still blue on our side--as broken as it was. How is it that your parents seem to get smarter as you get older? The more I stay with her, the less I seem to know. The nervousness, the neurosis, it all seems to make more sense now, it all seems to have a rhyme. But why is it that after the years of growing up, suddenly when your parents come to visit, you're suddenly that kid screaming in the hallway.

"I DON'T WANT to do the dishes!!! Stop cleaning my house!!! Let them sit there dammit!"

I feel bad that she should fly all the way to Hawaii to come see me and visit me and spend time with me and feels the need to clean. Not only does it make me feel somewhat inadequate but it makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of her, which, now that I'm something resembling an adult--is totally unacceptable.

Helene told me that her mother does the same thing when she comes to visit. Which, I guess, should make me feel better, I guess it's just a parent thing. But it still drives me nuts.

George says that one of the things he loves most about me is that I'm "low maintenance". He says one of the things he loves most about me is that I don't struggle to be in the latest fashions. He says that one of the things he loves most about me is that I don't care about things like bags and shoes and overpriced make up. He says that one of the things he loves most about me is that I can recognize the difference between an investment, a necessity and an indulgence. "You don't worry about that stupid girl stuff."

What he doesn't know is sometimes...I do.

 My computer sucks.