Sunday June 17 2012


☼ ○ ▬

In an apartment that Art and I are renting. A black metal fireplace built into the middle of the room. As a prank or joke our friend Emily hides inside of it. Our group knows a bomb is set to go off, or maybe we know a fire will set ablaze the whole apartment and cause a mass scare. Art, myself, and the rest of the group leave the building to save ourselves. We traverse down the street and cross the border of Mexico – forgetting about the danger we left behind. Dumpster diving adventures ensue. I hop in and toss bunches of bananas and watermelons to needy Mexican families standing by. A punk biker gang joins in on the action.


Later, Art and I can see a billow of smoke from our apartment building faraway. We decide to investigate. We watch people clamoring to exit the building. Climbing the flights of stairs to get to the third floor in hopes that I can save our friend. I don’t have much hope. Upon arrival I find what used to be our apartment is now a department store. Customers and Employees hanging about as if nothing ever happened. I’m reminded that I’m dreaming by an unknown inhibition. Therefore I’m aware I should have no fear of any consequences. I talk to this fat black lady sitting in a chair and question some of the events of today.

Me: “What am I missing here?”

Lady: “Your gear.”

Me: “My gear?”

I think she doesn’t understand what I’m asking. Whatever. I scan the people in the room. I approach a very attractive female employee. With the idea of no consequence in mind I invite her around the corner where we engage in sexual activities. She leans up against the wall with her ass sticking out to me in full bloom. What do I have to lose?

▬ ○ ☼ ○ ▬

Exploring a mall. I approach a girl working the sales floor of Nordstrom or some upscale department store. Her nametag says, Sndy, but she goes by Noah. I find her overwhelmingly attractive. We met in passing earlier. Now she recognizes a spark between us. We flirt and work at finding ways to get privacy but she’s on the clock and constantly has to deal with customers.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up around 11:40 a.m.

Blueberries. Banana. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Thankfully the sky is overcast today, blanketing the powerful sun behind grey clouds.

Peanut Butter Bagel. Tortilla Chips with Salsa and Avocado. Aloe Vera Drink.

The day continues...and into the night.

Eating up the last of the Vegan Banana Chocolate Chip Cookies.

During the last hour I get the chance to have a phone conversation with Kristin. I sense a lack of enthusiasm. I feel a wall and ask about it. She’s disappointed with what’s going on with us and, like a machine gun, shoots through a list of points explaining it. I feel battered as she speaks in such a callous tone breaking me down. I’m bombarded with all these up-front expectations. They’re not unreasonable ones, not in the least bit, but she comes across as overwhelmingly mean. There’s a different kind of dysfunction to this that I don’t know how to deal with. The two of us have to re-learn how to communicate because we’re both used to communicating with another person (our exes). It’s a whole new ball game. I have to keep reminding myself that. But it’s like she’s demanding a revolution for an oppression that hasn’t even happened yet. Will it happen though? Does she see that?


There’s a conflict of time, or at least it’s being foreshadowed. I’m all wrapped up in my life with my house situation, my music, etc. She claims I want something easy, someone that’s just going “to crawl into a slot in my life”. 


But how did things get so dark between us this quick? Maybe I just don’t know her very well yet. Is this a bad sign? What would it be like if we were dating and an argument arose? Is this how all problems are going to be dealt with? With an overwhelming sensation of being broken down? Is this a resounding red flag? I think it is. But why am I fighting? She questions why I’m fighting. She was hoping after the other night’s heat I would just walk away from this.

“But I’m not that kind of person, Kristin! I don’t do that. I can’t just build up walls quickly like you and cut people out of my life.”

Maybe I should learn to do that. Maybe I should recognize this for what it really is, at least for me. Poison. Toxin. Female toxin that very well may hold me back from great things. But the other part of me thinks I could benefit from an intense loving relationship with someone like her.


I feel sad. My body’s shaking. I feel uncomfortable and helpless. Things are messy. She takes responsibility for her tendency to make things messy.

Me: “Is it possible to make your point without being messy?”

I leave her with a few brief statements because I’m needed inside the restaurant so I can count out.

Me: “Kristin, I like you. I really do. I have genuine emotions and genuine affections for you. This is important to me. And if you want this to work out...if you want to give this any chance at all, all I ask is that you have an inkling of patience with me. That’s it. Okay?”

Her: “I don’t know, dude.”

Me: “Have some space to yourself and I’ll talk to you later. I gotta go.”

Her: “Okay. Bye.”


Off work and back home.

Hot and Sour Soup with Rice and Spring Rolls.

Finishing The Border (1982).

Fortune cookie says, “Minutes are worth more than money. Spend them wisely.”

Elliott encourages a round of hoops on the Friends School courts. We shoot around the ball while simultaneously shooting the shit about our lives and the girls in them. Feeling a little more empowered as we talk...feeling more concrete about the ideas I’ve been mulling over in my head. It’s nice to a have a male-to-male understanding. It’s about edification and affirmation. If these courts could talk...  

Back home. Elliott takes off.

Snacking on some Parmesan Garlic Bread and a Pecan Nougat with a little Almond Milk.

Sleep at 3:30 a.m.

[i] Theories of Anxiety book cover. William F. Fischer.

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