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new job is cool and interesting, love to be around artists, inspiring. living the life I always wanted to, in a conversation with Jason the other day I realized if I was gonna die in a year I would do exactly the same thing I'm doing now. throwing parties, making art, spending time with my family, loving, learning and living San Francisco. what a realization that was, esp. after so many years deep in the hole...
reading about relationship anarchy, deciding how I feel about it. seems woke and in line with my values to forego a label, but some part of me wants to be accepted and recognized in this way that everyone else is, as a girlfriend, as a partner, as someone who deserves to be in a relationship. but then again, aren't I already in that third bucket...? trying to break free of the chains of normalcy and tradition, but also still negotiating my real desires and feelings. life is hard even when everything is going right...
first milk bar party was a huge success, so fun. on cloud 9, so cool to be throwing my first party at the bar at the end of haight street, across from amoeba where we used to shop in high school and take pictures at. all I wanted was to live my dreams, my cool urban hipster life, and that's exactly what I get to do now, I am so lucky. or maybe I manifested it for myself, because im awesome.
heading to madrid next week, doing this new thing where I book one-way tickets and plan nothing. honestly it removes some degree of stress from my life bc I know I'll always figure it out and doesn't feel like planning is this thing I must do or else I will die on the side of the road. feels a little flippant and fun, and isn't that what your 20s are about anyway?
everything is going great with Jason, trying to enjoy it while it lasts and not be tied to an outcome. hard to put into practice when it's been so long since I've met someone I've genuinely connected with, someone who appreciates me for me and makes me feel so good. but to put it in perspective I guess there's always other fish in the sea, and I am a whole person even when I'm single, too, and in fact I paint more and am a better friend. the grass is always greener, or something, even though I love love.
what do I want, anyway? I guess I'm getting all I could desire. a label means little when there is realistically no problem to solve. but deep down maybe I crave some legitimacy, some validation, but it would be nice to not need that in the form of what is said, because obviously I get that from the actual relationship, and when I don't we talk about it and I usually get it in the end anyway. im new to all this, Louis and I never talked about anything, and yet he called me his girlfriend/partner, at least from time to time...
I saw Lou at my party and felt nothing. it was a little bit of a relief now that he's a character in the scene, and I was worried that I might have some strong reaction or feeling towards him. instead it felt like an afterthought, I feel nothing when he texts me and he is just another person for me to inadvertently ghost. it feels nice to have that power. I am smitten with another, and I wait for him to reciprocate...but I guess I am in no rush, Catherine claims this is the best part. im not sure I agree, but it's a good one nonetheless.
madrid, then maybe paris, then up the coast to Oregon and Washington, to martin's poetry retreat. excited for that, excited to see him and be among creatives, to manifest my desires. Jason is lucky to have me, for invites and ideas and company. am I lucky to have him?
a reminder to myself that I built all I have, except my house. it took work and time. and now I am well-situated and I feel blessed. bad luck could have ruined a lot, and I was fortunate to receive opportunities that I then was able to deserve. I know everything will turn soon - my grandma is dealing with a lot, I make my mom sad by not coming home, and it breaks my heart that I haven't talked to my brother in so long - but I am trying to enjoy this moment and be present while it lasts, and shelve my anxiety to the side. focus on creating value, charese says, the things that matter to me. when I thought I was dying the other day in Pacifica I felt acutely the importance of the present moment, as they are so limited. all that matters is the experience, not even really the memories. to continue to create, build, relate, love...what more could anyone want or ask for?
alone in bed after thinking i was having a heart attack, only to head out the door to go to the ER and it goes away suddenly. from thinking that my independence is my crutch to a strength. Charese says to stop comparing myself to others because they havent been through what ive been through. listening to bladee and feeling solace in my aloneness, in my peace with death, in my extreme and troublesome selflessness where i martyr myself like my mom, for points or something, erase myself out of life itself, the ultimate bliss, my life a service. to need no one and nothing is the most all-encompassing reliefâit feels like ketamine on the final night of the untz. on the stool at winters tavern i thought that if i were to contract some terminal illness i would die with grace, and a sense of humor. nothing is that serious anyway, i guess, but i appreciate my friends who are always there for me and care about my health and safety, to my perennial surprise. a sense of terror, then a sense of calmâreminds me of the robert hass poem. to cut myself some slack, and to believe in my deservingness and worthâto demand everything and moreâto be in control of my well-trodden anxieties and bullshit thoughts and be the agent of my own life and destiny, how i have always wanted and deserved. life is too fragile, too shortâŚ
walking back from the smart vip opening in the snow in the dead of a chicago night, louis told me âyouâre so beautiful when you cryââ the evilness of those words haunts me to this day, i want to be free of it allâŚ
in Chapultepec after all the major attractions were closed, we rounded the castle as it began to rain, a light sprinkle. we observed how everyone there was canoodling boldly, old, young, with varying levels of intimacy and passion. in search of the perfect place to canoodle, we settled on a bench in front of a bust of Carlos pellicer, where we did so until a man on a bike came around shouting at us all to stop canoodling, the park was closing, thanks for enjoying...
at rosetta we drank coffee, eating pastries and also canoodling, they gave us the best spot, in the corner, and besides the couple in front of us was doing the same thing. it feels so good to feel so good that you can't even think about the cringe of canoodling, of being in a couple, of sacrificing your cool independence. the reframing that works for me, retroactively, is that it's different when it's a lover, not mi novio, not mi esposo, something maybe more vague, existing outside the confines of category, and therefore more romantic, more suave...
at the airport, we almost missed our flight, despite being there 2 hours ahead of schedule, and I appreciated his calmness, only individually occupying 10 minutes of silent tension that never once broke the surface, no semblance of shared frenzy.
I get mad at him for not wearing his seatbelt here, but in the beat where it's optional, he moved to the middle seat so I could fall asleep on his shoulder.
when we reached home, we canoodled for many more hours, in the sandwich line, in bed, doing k on the couch which we moved to face the deck, watching the sun set over the panoramic view of the peninsula. we didn't make it to the sunset, fell asleep in a cocoon instead.
in the uber to the airport I lamented our leaving, so exciting it is to be in a new place, where the mere act of situating yourself is stimulating enough to fill days on end. he reminded me that San Francisco is beautiful and desirable to many, and that there is magic there too. when I drove around yesterday in the surprisingly warm afternoon to Merriweather post pavilion, the hot wind blowing through the half-opened passenger side window, I felt silly that I could have possibly forgotten the city that awaited me here, the city of my dreams and childhood fantasy that I am only beginning to realize, the city of a poetry of love...
on saturday night, we went to a rave in tacubaya, in a strange warehouse type building with a basement parking lot. we danced in the void, disappearing into the fog. we left (to unsuccessfully find pizza), and when we got home, Amy and I, tripping, considered going back for more. instead we talked indulgently about love and relationships until the sun came up around 7am. on cue, Claudia came back from her 4am hookup, with oddly beautiful raccoon eyes (heroin chic) in a baggy hoodie she stole from her man. she told us about her night, through which she also did not sleep, while I ate 7/11 potato chips on the couch. in the early morning light, with the Condesa birds chirping, it would be hard to miss the cool tenderness emanating from that apartment, three strung-out little boys after a long eventful night, the fourth dutifully sleeping in the bedroom across.
less worming, more living:
he pulled up in a beat to our apartment at Cuernavaca 101 on a tuesday afternoon, after a saga of almost just barely missing his flight, in the true dramatic fashion of a romance.
we sat on the benches in plaza rio de Janeiro while my shins were unknowingly being devoured by fleas; first in the glaring sun, talking about taste, then in the shade, while Jose Luis insisted on giving me a shoe shine. he asked if he was mi novio, o mi esposo, I said no to both and Jose was amused...I wonder what he would have said if he were the one askedâat night he says mi amor...
every night we walked back late at night, 4am, staying up later than everyone. after the absinthe bar, we walked through the little egg, stopping at the vaguely brutalist sculpture that looks like an upturned fist. he tried to run up the little finger and almost made it to the top, and I thought about how he was exactly the kind of guy I'd be intoâbold, nimble, dangerous, a little crazy.
the next night we stopped at the big plaza in the big egg, we sat there with the whole thing to ourselves. he lit a j with the cute matchbook that I got him without knowing he had a matchbook collection. he offered me his jacket because I was cold and sleepy, and I asked him if he was kind because of the church.
on the roof of Maison artemisia, we swayed to the silly musical stylings of the piano man, ringing up the serpentine stairway from the first floor at 2am. the roof was dark and ostensibly closed, but we hid up there til past closing time. emboldened by the absinthe, I asked him how I could get him to fall in love with me, to which he responded after a brief pause, 'you're doing it'...