Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Jess sets me Straight... Again.

Jess: What do you mean you don't believe in love

Sam: I believe in affection, I believe in brief obsessions, I believe in loyalty. But I've seen what people do and say when they are in love. People tear each other apart, inside and out, all in the name of love. They stay with someone that they have grown to despise because they don't want to hurt the one they love. People use love as a reason to be selfish, as a justification to hurt others just so they can be happy. People may fall in love but I want no part of it. I'll date, enjoy the flush of affection that comes with being with someone new and then I'll move on before either of us gets too attached. I'm only young once. I just want to be free.. for a while.

Jess: So if you don't plan on falling in love, how will you know if you want to be in a relationship with someone? If not love what do you feel?

Sam: Hmm. What's it s'posed to feel like? It's supposed to be like when you can't even see straight if you can't see them. When you can smell them, taste them, feel them, even when they aren't with you. When your blood cries out for their blood, like calls to like, every part of you has a reflection in them. When you're so drenched in them, when you can still feel them inside you, or around you,
when you can tast all their secrets.

Jess: .... see I would call that love

Sam: Dammit

Temporary Satisfaction

I'm covered in tattoos
Well, machine washable marker tattoos.

The night was spent drinking wine, telling secrets, listening to smokey blues singers and drawing tattoos on each other in our dimly lit house.

There's something about the night that inspires people to say things, tell secrets that they've kept hidden from the harsh judging sunlight, to share a part of themselves that normally stays reserved for significant others.

I love secrets. I love that time of night when secrets become tangible.

The drawing tattoos is an intimate ritual for me, one that started years ago with an ex boyfriend.
I've mentioned before that I'm not big into the whole touching thing. Even casual touch is intimate to me. The other day I was playing a game with co workers, which involved writing a famous person's name on a sticky note and then taping it to someone else's head so they can guess who it is. I taped it to a friends head and even that slight brush of skin contact... it's burned into me. I can still feel it if I think about it. I know it doesn't work that way for everyone. But if I choose to touch you, or ask you to touch me in someway... it comes with a lot of thought before it.

Trust me, I've become the expert at finding ways around the necessity of touching people.

But back to the drawing tattoos part of the evening. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the dirty rock'n'roll blues that was playing. We sat in an uneven circle, Jess drawing on my left arm, my legs sprawled over Liz's lap, Liz drawing on Cliff's left arm and Cliff's feet tapping the beat out on Matt's shins. All of us touching, in small insignificant ways.
But intimate ways nevertheless.

And now the sun is fully up, the heat has reclaimed the day and I am covering in tattoos and the echos of tattoos that have rubbed off on me from other people's washable tattoos when they leaned on me. I look at the jumble of colors on me and see the warmth of friendship.

Seeing the colors on me reminds me that I've let these people in. I care about them and they care about me and we... touch. Casually. Comfortably. Like puppies that play and rough house and then all sleep in a pile.

It's a good feeling.
It was a good night.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Morning Musing

I'm officially back to the graveyard shift.

Driving eastbound towards home as the sun tried to blind me, it finally hit. The last six months are over. The last six months that was working the pm shift and was full of moving, school, more school, warrior dash training, house parties, welcoming the sunrise with a bottle of wine, late night swims, traveling and struggling to keep a dying relationship going... is over.

The last month I've been antsy. Which is an understatement.
The last two weeks I've been a mix of excitement, nerves, and not so patiently waiting.
Once I make a decision it's soooo hard for me to wait. I mean, I made a decision. Now I need to follow through with it. What do you mean I need to wait? I understand your words but not the meaning.
But in two weeks I'll have answers. Which isn't as good as action. But it's better then waiting.

I think I can wait two weeks.

For now I'm starting a new shift. And a new six months is starting. I can't read the future but there's a fair chance this next six months will be filled with school, more school, super spartan race training, plotting and planning with Jess, four month relationships, books, vacations and lots and lots of family.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Sierra and TJ are back? Well they are.
Which means the band is getting back together.

Friday, July 15, 2011

The Land of Newport

Some quick pictures of our vacation to the land of Newport.

The little squirt... not so little any more at fourteen.

In our natural habitat

Don't judge us.... ice cream doesn't have calories when you're on vacation

Bronze Gods

My "handstands across the world" continues....

Jess rescues a crab.. I told her she couldn't bring it home, Raine wouldn't like it

Our totally awesome fort

Not posed at all

We found funnel cakes. We died and went to heaven...and then got more

Jess never put down the video camera, I think it's surgically attached to her hand now

Travis understands that books and beach go together

Jess fits right in

Rashguards, the best thing ever invented for girls in bikinis who play in the waves

Friday, July 8, 2011

Sometimes my subconscience is smarter then my brain

I can't shake this feeling

I'm not even sure I can describe the feeling.
It's halfway between an itch and a shiver down my spine
It's sorta like a "something bad is about to happen", but more like "I forgot something big and will get in trouble for forgetting", and yet not at all either of those. It's less "I forgot to turn off the stove" and even more less "I'm going to get caught from cheating on that test". It's more that feeling the crafty detective in a 1940's noir film gets, the one that happens when the case falls too neatly together and he thinks he has the bad guy but the audience is screaming at him that it's the wrong guy.

Yeah, more like that.

It's like switching the radio in time to hear the last guitar strum of a song that you can't quite place
It's like when you wake up in the dark and you see an unfamiliar shadow and you can't place it and you're 95% sure it's not an alien or mass murder or giant freaking spider. Or when a friend says something that sounds truthful, looks truthful but you know is lie even though you can't prove it and you have no idea why they would lie about something little so it's probably not a lie.

Yeah that's the feeling.

It's settled in between my shoulder blades
I hope it doesn't stay there long

The Burning House

There is this website called The Burning House. It's basically full of pictures of what people would save if their house was burning and then an inventory below.

Naturally I love this website and the idea behind it.

So without further ado, this is my burning house.

Name: Sam
Age: 25
Location: Arizona
Occupation: PD Dispatcher
* Bodhi
* A steamer chest that was my grandmothers, possibly her grandmothers as well
* A hat box/trunk that photos and writings from high school and study abroad
* Two photo albums (none of the pictures have digital back ups)
* A first edition of Edgar Allan Poe that my great grandfather gave my grandmother who gave it to me
* My favorite copy of Wuthering Heights
* A World Atlas book that Mareena gave me from the sixties
* My laptop
* My compass necklace
* My passport