Tuesday September 7 2010

DREAM: Consolidating luggage and other things in my green min-van in order to fit a twin mattress in the back because I’m leaving Blacksburg to go back home to Virginia Beach. My mom and stepdad are traveling with me. Trying to decide who will drive. I think I just finished playing a few shows—trying to persuade my mom to drive so I can lie down in the back.

Around 2:30 p.m. I wake up from a hard sleep and a deep dream.

Breakfast: Half of a Toasted Bagel Plain with Butter and Blackberry Spread. Earl Grey Tea. Zinc, Alfalfa Grain.

The Russians are all off work today is seems.

Getting a few groceries at Target with Nic by my side.

Nic: “That’s America. Less effort, no results.”

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea. Watermelon.

Watching some of Home at the End of the World and thinking I need to watch this with JP by my side.

Leaving the Asian market on Great Neck after picking up Sinigang supplies, I see Rusty’s dad cross the heavy trafficked road.

Stretching, Meditating, Praying, Yoga, on the roof of the storage unit. It’s early evening—the sun is about to set. Feeling the light breeze on my skin—the birds chirping—the crickets starting their crickety song. Lying on my back, legs and arms spread out—watching all the flying objects in the sky pass each other on different levels: birds, planes, jets, and far off in the distance a jet stream. Where am I headed? I lost you somewhere along the way. These worlds that attract me, I can see them so vividly in my mind. What am I doing wrong? Staring into the light blue sky. I start to see those things they call “eye floaters” that you can only see in bright or white backgrounds. I try to focus on the details of the clear worm-like creatures but they keep moving around without my permission. 

Changing a few strings on my acoustic guitar and playing some music.

I run into Wesley and Emily at home. We spray flea treatment on the cat in the bathroom.
Jamil is making Russian ravioli called Pelmeny, which consist of dough filled with beef.
Sitting at the coffee table with Jamil and Art eating some with a Yogurt Dill Dip along with Steamed Cauliflower and Green Beans, and Garlic Toast. They’re watching a documentary about these two Russians that drive around America in a Ford Explorer meeting people along the way and, well, documenting everything of course.

I walk into the kitchen to clean my dishes and I hear a hard tap on the window. I look over to find a middle finger in my face. This is a typical form of hello you can come to expect from Elliott. Inside, he describes his sinus congestion, which has made him feel really sick.

Emily’s about to go to bed—Wesley is sitting in the computer chair. I make a comment on the lack of affection they’ve displayed tonight and most of the times I’ve seen them. Thinking about my recent spats with Margot about her expectations of me to kiss her in front of people. Every couple has a different level of comfortability when it comes to physical affection, and I recognize her and I are on very different levels. There’s still plenty of warm places in my heart for her, however, whenever the drama escalates so does the bitterness. I refuse to be in a bitter relationship. I just want love. I want respect. Just a little bit?

Poker with the boys—Roma, Art, James.
Sipping very strong Coffee with Cream and eating Chocolate Chip Cookies.

Art wins the first game, and then we play a turbo round just him and I. He wins again.
Submitting my blog to numerous blog directories, which is taking a few hours.

Eating a bowl of Crisp Rice with Brown Sugar.

Off and on reading the first novel of DOOM.

Playing a little bit of Unreal, then realizing how much time I’ve been staring at a computer screen for the past 3 hours, I adhere to my body’s need to get outside and shoot some hoops!

The sun should be coming up in an hour but it’s still dark. I’m out on the courts alone—releasing pent up aggression. My hand eye coordination is dead on after practicing my shoot’em up skills. Talking to myself and pretending it’s the last 10 seconds of the last quarter in a real basketball game—fumbling around with the ball swerving to the right and left—counting down “3 2, and he goes for final score…” then hooking a shot at the last second. “It’s good! And they win the game!” Remembering a time when I was younger and I used to play ball constantly. My mom used to be a janitor for London Bridge Baptist Church, which had a huge gym. I spent hours practicing—thinking one day I would be in the NBA for sure. It was what I wanted to be when I grew up. And here I am, almost 10 years later—in the same town, delivering Chinese food and playing music. It’s strange to think about.

Back at home, showering.

Sleep around 7:20 a.m.

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