Last night I had a realization while peeing, as one does.
When there’s an argument between my logic and my heart, my logic wins most of the time because I need, if nothing else,to live honestly. When the battle between the two, between my heart and brain is more than I’m prepared to process, I “Yolo”Or “make poor life choices”, depending on who you ask. Sometimes both. This happens rarely but when it does, it’s a mess. 🧠
Maybe at some point in my life I won’t be a constant, daily work in progress. Does anyone ever get there? This is a legitimate question.
There’s decent artwork on the walls of the Red Rock coffee shop, this rotation. I’m sitting across from a canvas bearing a painting of a rather interpretive bobcat and baroque doorways in blues and burn umber. It works, wether or not it should. There’s a Meetup of Hebrew-speaking people behind Alvin and I and as we have computers out working on various projects.
Yesterday, Alvin and I got married. We’d talked about it for some time now: I don’t have people, per se. No family to speak of , and my friends are spread out all over the world. His friends and family are in Malaysia. It would’ve taken a bit of effort and so so much time to have a wedding , and it wasn’t important to either of us.We might do something bigger later, but we’re married now. Just like when I got my cat, I committed to feeding his dumb little cat face for the rest of his life, I’ve committed to loving this person and sharing our responsibilities and becoming the best versions of ourselves together, and I’m blissful in this choice.
This isn’t my first marriage: If you know me, you know this. I got married too young to someone who was and currently IS lovely, but because of failings on both of our parts and some general un-ready-ness on my end things didn’t work out. That’s all I’ll really say about that union.While things didn’t explode, but it wasn’t a good match and it didn’t end easily. I’m a very different human now than I was then.(Something that thanks to Faceboook, I’m reminded of on the daily. years ago me was occasionally cringeworthy, fuck) I’ve changed and steered and danced off into the mountains and moved and survived a thousand times since then. There was Jeff, also. How do you talk with any comfort about getting married after a divorce and the death of a partner? It’s not like I’m 40 or something, thats low-key a LOT of baggage for our age. I felt anxiety about announcing anything until afterwards, and perhaps I shouldn’t have felt any. I don’t know. Life is delicate, and i was too indelicate when I was in my twenties not to learn from my many mistakes.
Here we are, though. My husband is a wonderful man. I look at him often and see every facet and am amazed at how how much we both contain. This is the beginning. Here we go, Love.
I packed up a to-go container of assorted cheeses and hiked them to my tattoo artist’s studio, across the street. I’ve recently had a large amount of cover-up work done on my chest and upper-left arm, and he had a lot to work over. The last time I was there, I accidentally tipped %15 in the Square app because that’s my default at coffee shoppes. Now, there is quite a large difference to me between the intimacy of 3 minutes of conversation during the preparation of my exceptionally large Latte(which I genuinely adore you for making, don’t get it twisted) and the almost ritualistic injection of ink into my epidermis, painfully(sometimes for both the artist as well as the canvas) over a span of hours. Fifteen percent isn’t enough, so.. I could bring more cash back later:That is a totally plausible solution. Unfortunately, I am myself, so that’s too anxiety-producing and awkward so the answer is cheese. Cheese and me overtipping next time.
You spend several hours taking an idea out out of your mind and pounding it into my chest, and I’ll feed you. You give me solutions, I’ll edit your paper. Watch my cat and I’ll take you to shop when you don’t want to but have to. Just know that I’ll feel uncomfortable when you acknowledge that’s what I’m doing, because It feels so odd in this sterile place.
I often feel American culture is too sterilized: we’re so impersonal, and I’m not an impersonal human. I’m intimate and small in a world filled with open-plan , overhead-lit workspaces and florescent bulbs. I refuse to change this.