this imploding heart

From Today, one year ago:

Kissing in the parking lot and Underoos

Fly around my pretty little miss

The Tiny Roomate flies in from NY today before we leave for an undisclosed holiday meal location tomorrow morning. I was talking about her with J the other day, and he asked how we got along so well, being as different as we are. To tell the truth, I don't know. I think I do a lot of things that drive her nuts, and she does a lot of things that would drive me nuts were she anyone else but it just doesn't matter as much. When she's gone, there's a tiny chloe shaped hole just below my right collarbone, patched over not with phone calls and emails and postcards, but with the knowledge that my future is dotted with mornings waking up with a sleeping lioness near by, her fingers poised as if about to pinch out a candle.

we're fighting for no reason

the edge of belltown


the middle of downtown


Monorail beams


now featuring the Nutcracker.

I





my bike messenger stopped me on the street while I was taking picutes today. He's going to propose just as soon as he figures out my name. You're all invited. Please don't tell him I love him.

Conversations Past.

They are both laying on their backs on the living room floor. She has one shoe on. He smells lightly of mint.

He: "Wait a minute..."

She: "What?"

He: "Are we going out?"

She: "Like....you're my boyfriend-going out, or Sometimes we have dinner and sleep over -going out or are we leaving right now -going out. "

He: "Well obviously the second, but I was asking about the first. Can you remember...."

She: "The last time I remember you and I breaking up, it was in front of the bookstore. Did that one take?"

He: "That wasn't the last time. What about that night after the mexican restaurant when you had all the blended drinks and you were so so cold that we broke up but you slept here anyway because you were too cold to get out of bed?"

She: "I didn't think we counted that one at all, seeing as how we woke up and went to that gallery opening after breakfast. "

He: "This is dumb."

She: "I'm freezing."

He: "Do you want a sandwich?"

She: "I want a blanket."

He: "I want a sandwich."

everything new is old again

I left my house this morning in my red wool overcoat with the clasps and a scarf wrapped around to my ears. If I had it my way, I wouldn't even get dressed in the morning. I'd have giant safety pins to pin my comforter up around my body like a toga made of marshmallows and feathers. It would protect me from everything, and I wouldn't be afriad to rollerskate down the hill at top speed screaming the spiderman theme.

but instead, I woke up and took a shower, got dressed in the clothes I set out for myself last night, adding kneesocks at the last minute even though they don't match (it's too damn cold) and pushing my hair out of my eyes with a blue plastic barrette from a set of 26. My hair is getting long.
On my second north/south cross, we arrived at the corner at the same time. He has the kind of glasses and knapsack that make me think 'You and I could hold hands for a while until something went terribly wrong. It'd be nice.' It's always the glasses and the knapsack that do me in. He looked me right in the eye for longer than people usually do, and I looked right back until the blood rushing to my cheeks made me look away. We waited for the cycle of greenyellowred greenarrowyellowarrowredarrow Walk. He turned to me again and I thought he was going to speak. I thought to myself 'If he speaks to me, my response will be the first thing I've said out loud today. I don't even know this guy and he will own my first words of the day, Novemer 26th, 2002. '. He didn't, so neither did I. He walked right next to me the whole rest of the way. I wanted to stick my finger through the hole in his pantleg just below his left knee and say "I will fix that if you like, and I will leave it alone if you don't."

Hello Comrades,

Please do me a favor. From now on, when I mention needing to buy any appliance of any kind, remind me to go to Bartells Drugs first. You may remember the mini food processor incident of a few months ago. I paid 30 bucks for that damn thing. While shopping for teaspoon/tablespoon measurement instruments and a hand mixer last night, I found a comperable product for 7 dollars. I bought the hand mixer for 10 and an iron last week for 12. It's amazing.

I made cookies. They came out buttery and round and correct, as opposed to giant and flat and almost on fire. Thank you. Thank you.

say 'I'll help you pack'

My senior prom date and I got trashed with his mom last night. I was not wearing a wreath of flowers in my hair. That's all I should say about that.

My lord, I've never been so relaxed in my life. Don't go ruining it by threatening to touch my bellybutton. I'll cut you.

Listen baby, the novel isnt looking even remotely close enough to done in order to be done by the end of the month. I'm going to plug away at it until the 30th, but it's pretty much over. It's crap, but if you're reading here, you've read crap before and probably enjoyed it. If you want to read more crap, send me an email and I'll send it to you. Unless I think you and I might someday go out. I don't want you having that kind of fodder against me in fights. (but what a good way to figure out if I think we'll ever go out, eh? No novel sent = romance in your future, right? Romance with lots of fighting at least. boy, do i love fighting.)

So seriously. I can't remember what my job actually includes today other than answering the phone and writing emails. I know I spend a lot of time doing that, but what else do I do? I must do something...right?

and a list! I could go on forever. Lets take a look at the polls:

Time of day when I hallucinate that I can teleport on a regular basis: 4:40am

Time of day that I am guaranteed to get the hiccups if I'm awake: 4:50am.

Time of day where you will have to force me to smile with all of your might because I hate everything I hate everything touch me and you die: 3:50-4:10

Time of day that I am guaranteed to need to use the restroom: 10:10am

Time of day I would sleep to if people didn't keep calling and calling and please please stop calling, you're not my friends, only friends get to wake me up: 1:30pm

NOW! Pretend that you are a ninja. Isn't it weird just to sit there and not do anything in particular, but to say to yourself "I'm a damn ninja! Holy shit!"? weird.

Sex! Druz! Email!

I had to let myself calm down a little before I wrote this. If I sent you a super gushy email already, please forgive me. I needed to get my hangover on just to sit still.

I saw the greatest fucking live show last night.

blah blah blah sewing together a foam dolphin blah blah blah you're right, he's 37, blah blah blah Popular Shapes were so high pitched blah blah blah

HOLY SHIT. Electric Eel Shock came on stage and blew my mind. With your little naked drummer and his tube sock and your lead singer with an afro and your bassist in his ultimate rockitude. (How the hell do you get a Japanese afro? ) Those boys SELL IT. Naked drummer naked drumming his double sticked heart out and cackleing eerily into the microphone over the sharp, kicky vocals of the afro. Slamming into each other, snaking around on the floor, jumping off the motherfucking drumkit. Erin and I couldn't stop laughing and yelling at how fantastic and ridiculous it all was. It's been a while since I've been to a show where the performance pretty much Demands that you have a good time and take part and dance or you'll lose your shit. I went to sleep singing words in another language and woke up with my fist in the air shouting Sex! Druz! Eeeeeeeeemmaaaaaaiiiillll! Yeeeeeeaaaaaaahhhh!

aint that a shame.

I wanted to be able to take a picture of the giant fogged over sun trying to shed light on the giant fogged over buildings, but it didn't work out. I got this instead.

and the streamers over the car lot, and the upshot of the nugget, and the shady chinese deli that depresses me immensely.

and the tag keyed into the window and me.

do you wanna stay in bed all day? (yeah!) do you remember feeling any other way? (No!)

People seem to think I'm a much nicer girl than I think I actually am. I always wonder if everyone else thinks about fighting as much as I do. Maybe they all think about it more, which means I'm a nicer girl than I expected, but how are we ever to know?

This is my problem with the pain scale and colors and everything else. I tried to explain it to my dad once.

Sonya: "Dad, isn't it totally possible that what I see and call the color green actually looks the same as what you see as purple and call green? How are we ever to know?"

Dad: "You're not very good at the wood splitting part of 'splitting wood' when you talk. Less with the mouth. More with the axe. "

Sonya: "But don't you think that's kind of terrifying? I mean, as long as everything relates to everything else via a certain pattern, you might be seeing what I would call a bear if I saw what you saw, but we both call a toothpick. You know?"

Dad: "That's stupid. I don't pick my teeth with a bear."

Sonya: "I know! But I might think that you do if I had my own memory but was able to see through your eyes."

Dad: "If you swing it from lower on the handle you'll get more leverage. Don't be afraid, just be cautious."

Sonya: "I'm never going to be good at this."

Dad: "Well, that's too bad, considering you're still going to have to do it."

and I did. Stupid splitting wood.

In other news, You wanna go to lunch at one today? I have to buy some ribbon for the show tonight, but I don't expect that it'll take too long.) Also, my laptop has been repaired, which means one less person to destroy. I think I'll take some pictures of my foggy foggy city today.

And all I will have to say is:

Viking Kittens.

(and thanks, Alisha.)

I could come back, if you wanted me to.

My giant squid killing story isnt going so well. lets pretend it's last december, shall we?

Its rained enough that all the leaves are clotting the drains like lumps of fat in arteries, causing the city to have a stroke. The cityplan will spend the rest of the year re-learning to speak and eat and walk. I would like to kiss strangers made of cotton candy. Sweet and soft and vanishing with the next rainfall.
I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. It landed harshly on the ground after it slipped out of my ear, and I swear I looked all over for it. There was nothing there but a paper cup full of short glances and 6 Olypmia bottle caps with the word puzzles in them.
There are a hundred secrets I was trying to tell you, back in the day. I'd be content to write them on the bottom of plastic cowboys and indians and sneak them into your coat pockets when you get up to play a new song on the push button juke box, but I have a feeling you no longer care to know what made me think of you at the grocer, or how many sandwiches I would once have made for you if you asked.

Because I am so freaking behind on my novel:

An excerpt, with no editing:

Marcy flopped down on the livingroom floor and stretched out her back and arms. She was tired from skating, ans sore from falling in a hole and exasperated from crying. Lola sat down next to her and pulle a few errany wasps from her hair.

“Bats tonight?”

“and every night. I didn’t get hit this time,though. Thank you very much. I know it feels bad for them too, but it sure creeps me out. They’re furry. It’s weir when furry things fly.”

“Will a story make you feel better?”

“Who says I’m feeling bad?”

“I do. It begins in Holland.

Everyone in Holland is really into these oranges. Special oranges grown on the southwest tip of Guam next to tomato fields. Everybody thinks the tomato fields have something to do with the taste of the oranges. They’re super tart and very juicy and they have a little red patch near the stem point place. Whatever that thing is called. Anyway, everyone in Holland is eating these oranges by the G.D. boxful. Its like the cabbage patch kid epidemic, people are going nuts and tearing apart grocery stands to get at these oranges. People are getting trampled over these oranges.

Well, this one kid starts thinking about how he can make some money off all this mania. The kid decides he’s gonna become a pirate. Gets himself a little rowboat and some oars and a lifejacket and heads out on the water. Orange boats sail up and he shouts from way down below “Let me up! I’m a pirate! I want your oranges!” and the sailors laugh and throw him an orange or two before sailing on by. Well, the kid isn’t getting any money, but he’s getting oranges for free, so he stops demanding and just starts asking, and most of the time, the ships oblige. Bright orangey oranges with red spots falling from the sky into the little boat with the little boy with the little pirate flag and the little life vest. It becomes something of a game. He demands like a pirate, or asks like a boy, and the sailors always play along and he prays for the safe voyage of that ship. Well, one day he’s out on the ocean and the light’s a little, and he’s hiking his little Holland pants up and waving his pirate flag around when an unfamiliar ship comes up, smelling like oranges. He laughs and jumps and shouts “I am a pirate! Hand over the oranges! Yargh!” and instead of oranges falling from the sky somebody screams and there’s all this rustleing on the boat. The kid figures out that they don’t know the game, so he calls out “Wait! I’m just kidding!” but the next thing he knows, somebody leans over the side of the ship and shoots him right through the head. Blammo. Last thing he smelled was gunpowder and oranges on a bright sunny day off the coast of Holland.

A few weeks later, the oranges stopped selling. People got tired of them and went back to planting their tulips and making soup and all the things people in Holland do, whatever those things happen to be…except that kid. That kid was dead.

His mother died a year later from a deficiency. She stopped eating fruit entirely after he was killed. He fell in the water with his lifejacket on, and by the time they got a rope around his body he was kind of stiff and bloated in the belly from the temperature change. They tried to straighten him out and make him presentable before bringing his body to his mother, but it wasn’t much use. He died with the look of misunderstanding and haste on his face. When his mother saw him and took him in her Holland arms she cried out to a norse god: “Can you change the winds of life? Can you change the winds of life and shoot me? Can you bring me my son and change the winds of life? No air in his little sails! No air? Can you change the winds? “ but the norse gods were busy playing pinoccle that day and didn’t see fit to change the winds. Lot of explaining to do anyway, with so much of the brain unavailable due to the exit wound. I suppose her life winds were changed anyway because of the whole fruit deficiency death thing. They only had each other. People mourned but they were soon forgotten, as were the oranges. A passing fad. A moment in time. Frozen by the latest craze and not without its casualties. Not without a death or two or three or four. Girl trampled by doll crazed mob. Man shot by cops in war against drugs. 3 protestors beaten to death. Policeman down in property tax standoff. The end.”

Lola pulled the rubber bands out of marcys hair and scratched her scalp. “Whaddya think of that, baby?”

“Mm. You have flour on your shoe.”

An Ode to Opie.

Today is Patrickopie's birthday. Lets talk about how great he is... in list format.

PATRICKOPIE: Will wear a brown leisure suit to a party if you buy it for him at value villiage. He will then complain that you made him look like Greg Brady, which you did, but it was so cute.

PATRICKOPIE: Loves cake. Will eat cake at any time in vast quantities. Will always check to be sure that you really really mean you don't want any more, because he will finish it.

PATRICKOPIE: can run faster than you.

PATRICKOPIE: Is enthusiastic about a lot of really ridiculous things, which is one of the best reasons we are friends. Our first conversation was all about running around in the woods digging holes. And then somebody said 'lets start a rock band' and the whole world said "Yeah!"

PATRICKOPIE: Loves one of my favorite people ever. She is also extremely enthusiastic about ridiculous things. "Lets go to costco and eat hot dogs!" "Yeah!"

PATRICKOPIE: Likes snakes and painting and music and nature and thai food and being thrifty and sports and the muppets and morning and kids. And I think he's great. Happy birthday Patrick.

open and open and beam.

Hello. The show is now open. Chances are good that I will stop threatening to kill people. Thank you for your support.

mgmnt.

I sleepwork.

I dreamed my show through all night long. I kept half waking up and looking at my bedside clock and wondering when we could go home. I wanted to go home so bad. I had never wanted to go home so bad in my life as I did laying in my own bed, pushing imaginary sliders, wondering why I was running a show in my underwear, wondering how I was going to get that motherfucker off the stage and away from my actors in my underwear, wondering how I was going to ride my scooter home in my underwear. The show kept getting longer and longer, I sat in bed bringing up lights and sequencing video and switching live feed wires until I sobbed. I still couldn't stop doing it. I didnt actually go to *sleep* sleep until around 5. I then had a short dream about Molly throwing pizza dough in a custom kitchen from the sixties.

The amazing thing about theater is that you usually can't tell the show where the tech was barely finished by the time the house was set to open, or a costume was made from scratch that morning, or that the stage manager threatened someone with their life last night from a show where the design was done and the lights were on the grid a week ago , and the actors have already had 4 dress runs and a sneak preview for the family, and the cast is entirely sober. Sometimes you can, but most of the time it's a play, and it's a good play or it's a bad play no matter how far behind you are.

I need cough drops and decongestant and a hug from somebody who doesn't give a shit about theatre.

I'm holding out for a hero

Holy Molly, Mother of Den.
You saved my life.

I can't understand you hating music to hold hands to.

Line my eyes with coffee grounds and mush me into the disposal. Send an icecube down after to keep the blades clean and the air fresh.

Frost my shoulders with home made pink icing and set me on a platter so I can gleam sweetly when you carry me into the room where the whole world is singing.

Strap me to your back and arch your muscles like you think a bird might before you jump off the overpass and I do my best to support you.

Keep me in an envelope in your coat pocket, mixed in with tobacco leaves and phone numbers written on the back of ticket stubs. You'll forget about me in the warm months, but I have time to wait for the snow.

until I wake up and I turn back to myself.

It's good to have a friend who will put on a grey wool pinstripe suit and take you to the Sorento, just so you can wear the evening gown with the tiny, tiny tear at the sleeve you bought for 14 dollars from Value Village because you were really, really sad.

Look what you've done to me.

Hello.

On Friday night, I purchased 2 pairs of mens slacks and one evening gown, Drank 3 glasses of Pabst, 3 whiskey somethings, and one shot of jager, and attended what might be the best party of my young adult life.

I was only able to see half the show, but the dismemberment plan was like riding on the back of a motorcycle in the morning with no traffic. Alisha and Patrickopie are as good as seedlings and cake mix and laughing till your cheeks hurt. The apartments above Graceland are weird and seem big when they're busting at the seams with people. I was barely able to move on Saturday morning.

Yesterday, I woke at 6am, rolled out of bed, donned aforementioned pants, and went to The Little Theatre on 19th. I wrote Ques from 7-9:30. I Q2Q'd with actors who behaved like angels from 9:35 to 12:06. I teched the motherfuck out of that show. I ate some orange chicken. I went to another theater meeting. I was in a reading with Paul. Art covered me in magic shell and ate me with a giant serving spoon it stole from the cafeteria. I almost killed someone. I banged my shoe on the carpet. Jaye made soup. It was great.

lemonade sweetheart.

Hi. Did I lend you Clem Snide 'Your Favorite Music'? Cause I can't freaking find it anywhere and I'd like to sing along to Come Lay on the Cooooouuuuuuucchhh Wiiiiiiiiiiiitthh meeeeeeeeee.

The Dismemberment plan is playing at Graceland tonight with Engine Down, who patrick opie knows from college, and I have the night off of rehearsal. But I also want to see some theatre. and go dancing and sit on a barstool with my feet hooked around the bar drinking a beer and go to the 'All the Movies you Want For the Price of One, So long As You're Not Totally Obvious About It' movie house.

In other news: Pink and Black is a fantastic color combination for this winter. Here are some suggestions on how to incorporate it into your wardrobe.

For the Ladies: Evening Wear: Little black dress with pink shoes and a coordinate pink flower over the ear or pinned to the shoulder. Business Casual: Pink cotton button up collared shirt with a black tank or vest over the top. Pants or skirt at will. Plaid is okay. Trust me. Evening Where You Might Get Some Beer Spilled In Your Shoe While You're Dancing and You're Almost Certain to End Up at the Hurricane Eating Disgusting Hashbrowns With Cigarette Ash Covering the Table, but You Don't Care 'Cause You're Pretty Drunk: Okay, we're taking the black tank from earlier and adding a black pair of sleeves (which can be easily constructed by taking a long piece of scrap fabric and sewing it into a tube on each side with a gap the width of your shoulders between the seams.) in pink or black. Doesn't matter. Pink Skirt, black kneesocks, Black Shoes (because the previously mentioned pink ones are probably not that good for dancing or running when somebody throws a shot glass off the balcony)
You look Great.

For the Gentlemen: (If you're a hetero, perhaps you're worried that you'll end up looking gay. Lets get 3 things straight. 1: You should be so lucky. Most of the gay guys I know look great. 2: That is such a stereotype. and 3: We're all really tired of that sweatshirt and those fucking sandals. Everyone.)

Evening Wear: This is a lot like the ladies business casual, except with nice pants (maybe wool, in grey. no pleats.) and a long sleeved sweater and pink socks. Maybe a pink handkerchief. Pointy collar. The key here is accents. You look better already.
Business Casual: Remember how I said no pleats? That means all the time. No pleated pants. And remember that pink shirt from earlier? The reason you can't take the sweater off while you're at dinner with your girlfriends parents is that there's a skull and crossbones embroidered in black on the breast pocket of it. Roll those sleeves up, wear whatever pants you want that dont have pleats. Wear the pink socks if you're feeling kicky.
Evening Where The Bartender Totally Likes You, Did You See That? and You Can't Find James' Car But You're Pretty Sure It Was Parked On Belmont So Maybe Somebody Stole It. Shit, My Fucking Library Books Were in that Car and Now Some Asshole Car Thief Has Them: Black button up with a collar, long or short sleeved, not buttoned to the top. Whatever pants you want (jeans are okay, just follow the non pleat rule from now on.) with non tennis shoes and a motherfucking Pink Tie, black zip up hoodie over the top. Boys in ties are hot. Boys in pink and black are twice as hot. Boys in ties of pink and black who carry bookstraps should look for me , I'll be 6 rows from the front, centerstage, holding my beer bottle as a weapon against that guy in that damn white baseball cap who thinks its okay to mosh. You're totally coming home with me.

In other winter related news: S 'Sadstyle' is my new Kind Of Like Spitting. It's great.

but don't give yourself away.

It rained like the real thing for 2 days straight and I feel like a real girl again. Clear in the head and barely sore in the body most of the time. I have the following questions:

Why don't students turn in Disk's instead of papers? Doesn't it seem like it'd be easier for everyone?

2: Why isnt there a light board, sound board combo so that you can have one Op do the entire show? There'd be 3 Go buttons. One that was lights only, one that was lights and sound, and one that was sound only, so you could run a sequence like this

Thunderclap (lights and sound)
sound fading on a 3 count, Powerfailure (lights only)
body falling down stairs and breaking a vase (in black, so sound only)
door slam with power return (lights and sound.)

That's one big machine and pressing Go 4 times instead of 6 at two boards. Has somebody already done this? I'm sure they have, but it's unlikely I'll ever work in a house that has enough money to get one.

stupid A/B slider board.

they just seem a little weird

I know I've already exhausted my right to complain about umbrella carriers and escalator standers, but boy...they don't have to do anything other than that and I want to kick them in the face.

In other news: College! Hooray for me.
Voting! I didn't do it. I didn't remember. I suck.

I stick because I'm stuck

My novel needs more conflict. You! Yes you! make conflict for superheros!

also,ifyou have 45,000 extra words sitting around, I'd take em.

proud and strange and so hopelessly hopeful.

I'm back at work for a half day today, and this is the longest I've been awake since wednesday night.

I'm going to tell you 2 stories. It's going to be very dramatic.

What I remember

Hooray! A ride home!

I was sitting in the back of Ricks and we had been discussing the way the car smelled. Sarah was in the front passenger seat. Things were okay.

I got that feeling you get when someone is coming up from behind you and you can't see them yet but you know they're there. The sidewalk navigation feeling.

I blinked. When I opened my eyes we were in a whole new city and a whole new life was taking place. Sarah couldnt get the door open. I couldnt figure out how we got in this totally unfamiliar place. I couldnt find my book (which was really really important for some reason.)
and then there were firemen. I asked them about the snaps on their knees. And then there were EMT's and I was on a board. I cried in the ambulance and apologized to the EMT, because it must get pretty annoying to be around people who cry all day. He said he didnt mind.

At the hospital they took blankets out of a heater and put them heavy over my whole body, which made me cry again, because at that moment those blankets were the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Everyone came to the hospital but I couldnt see them because I was in a neck brace on a board. (thanks for coming, guys.) Mike hung around until 2. Mike's a star. Stephen appeared from nowhere. Stephen is also a star. I have a concussion and a sprained neck. It makes me very stupid and forgetful, (but I successfully registered for college today. even though Im stupid.) The doctor said stupid and forgetful probably for the next few days. Can I come to your house for dinner?

What Actually happened between the Creeping Up Feeling and The Firemen

We were under the light when it turned yellow and the guy in the brown car just didnt stop. He plunged into the passenger side. I got knocked out, Sarah and Rick were still conscious. The new police station is right across the street. Rick ran over to the guy, asked him if he was okay, told him to stay there, went into the Police Station. The man got out of his car and ran away on his feet. I woke up.

If you have the option, do not get hit by cars. It makes you cry.

the end.

my novel is going to

my novel is going to be late and I hate everything because we got hit by a car and then the guy ran away. My head hurts and I want to cry all the time because I can't remember a damn thing. rutabega.

love,

sonya