My Brain On Crack

  • My Brain On Crack,  Send in the Clones

    Acid

    I am about 3 weeks late on a deadline. I am never late with deadlines (except for a notable exception because I can’t seem to operate Google Calendar). But this one requires going deeply into something, something I just don’t want to touch. But I have to. It calls to me, whispers to me at night just as I’m drifting into sleep and makes my eyes snap open as if on springs and my heart suddenly pound.  I push it away with safe thoughts, good thoughts, and push my leaping heart back into my chest.  It wriggles, fishlike, for a moment, then lays still, obediently pushing blood into my arteries…

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  • Go Places,  Ho, Earthling!,  My Brain On Crack

    Skydiving

    Yeah, so I jumped out of an airplane the other day. It’s well known than New Zealand is famous for bungy-jumping. When we got here there were countless airport brochures covered with alluring photos of smiling people about to hurl themselves to their doom. I thought about skydiving and it seemed sane by comparison—only a little daring like a walk on the foot-high barrier next to the path instead of on the path itself, rather than bungy-jumping daring of hurling yourself right off the cliff next to the path. I could do that. “Karen’s going to go skydiving,” Matthew remarked to his mom right after we got here. (He had…

  • My Brain On Crack,  Send in the Clones

    Why, Yes. There It Is.

    omfg it has been busy, with little sign of let up. Twelve hour days have melted in sixteen hour days, and this parttime gig is now paying me about a buck an hour. And, oh, I should be announcing it with fanfare (we launched! last week! and the site—Super Eco—totally rocks! go see!) but sadly all I can think about is the fact that the letters double themselves on the screen and make it nearly impossible to see. Last week it was cold, and I was in Pennsylvania. It snowed there. My heart froze. I hadn’t seen three cherubic faces in seven months, hadn’t held them in seven months, hadn’t…

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  • My Brain On Crack

    Still Here

    So yes, I moved.  I packed up my car with all my stuff, reported in with Canada (bye! don’t let the door hit you on the way out!) and moved in. So did the snow. Then I was snowed in. Because of the snow. And the steep steep hill.  And an appalling dearth of snowplows. It was sort of peaceful until the propane tank ran dry. And then it got cold. But there was this weird sense of denial that I had, of enjoyment of the fact that I had little and was making due with A Chair and A Bed and a package of rice cakes and some butter.…

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  • My Brain On Crack

    Prioritizing

    This is my last night in Vancouver. Oh, come on. Not, like, EVER. I’ll be back. Sometime. But everything I own is stacked here next to me. Quite a sight! There are 7 boxes and 2 in the car already. Plus 1 more in the back with computer stuff in it, because GOD HELP ME IF THERE WAS A GOD IF I HAVE TO GO WITHOUT INTERNET. Plus some smaller boxes and some suitcasey things and 2 bottles of wine and a wooden horse statue that used to stand next to the fireplace lo these many years ago in the house I grew up in. And upstairs is a small…

  • Blame Canada,  Ho, Earthling!

    I Totally Moved Here For The Dollar Coins

    Last week I was in Washington, in that country that wanted me back so badly that at the border the Drug Dog took a shine to the rear end of my car and the three border guards standing around there with nothing better to do started peering through the back windows at the two boxes in the back of my vehicle and asking me questions like, “So, have you run over any animals lately?” I thought the prudent course was deny-deny-deny, so I put on my most innocent, shocked expression and feigned innocent shock. “N-n-no! I don’t think so!” I managed to stutter, innocently. That was the wrong answer. This…

  • My Brain On Crack

    Pride Goeth Before The Fall

    Or something like that. Far be it from me, with an athiestic upbringing and a pagan belief system rooted in the practice of and belief in reincarnation and the oneness of everything, to quote accurately from anything remotely Biblical, but there you are. And here am I. Here’s the deal: what if you were incredibly optimistic some of the time, seeing everything in its shiny newness, seeing the amazing and myriad possibilities that exists for each of us in any given moment, seeing your own magical perfection and ability to DO ANYTHING AT ANY TIME? That would be great, right? So what if, some of the time, you saw nothing…

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  • Blame Canada,  My Brain On Crack

    Punishment

    Although I don’t particularly like them, not this brand anyway, I am eating organic corn tortillas. Microwaved, to take off that raw edge and render them nearly impossible to chew. Also they taste funny, possibly because the package has been in the fridge for weeks (partially opened, I found out) and there’s some white stuff on them that I told myself was “corn dust” and wasn’t the beginnings of mold and therefore isn’t going to make me sick, and I am bound and determined to finish every last tortilla in this package even though there isn’t anything like CHEESE to go with them because cheese is something I haven’t seen…

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  • My Brain On Crack

    It Might Be The Paint Fumes

    Irony = writing a post on the eco evils of latex paint while wielding a brush full of said paint with the other hand. Today Matthew decided it was the day to paint. I had mumbled some promise to him about “trim” and “steady hand” and couldn’t resist helping cover up that hideous orangey color with a color I find hard to describe. In a certain light it looks purplish. In another it looks more taupe. I have no idea what color it is, but it’s on three walls and is destined for several more. It looks modern and sleek, which is a good thing if that’s what you’re going…

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  • My Brain On Crack

    I Have Spam

    Spam makes you special. I have spam. I’m sitting here, still in my coat, because I have been cold for more days than I can count. Bundled up in bed at night with socks—I hate wearing socks in bed, it seems so wrong—and multiple layers including a cashmere sweater, next to a warm man who loves me, I lie awake every night for hours wondering if I will ever be warm again. The cold is inside me. I tell Matthew not to bother turning the heat up, because I know it will make no difference. The cold is inside. I’m wearing headphones right now, some string and superglue holding them…

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