From the photos, you’d think visiting the Colossal Colon was the highlight of our day. You’d be wrong. Yes, it makes for the most dramatic pictures. But it was not the best or even funniest part of the day. For me, the best part was 15 minutes of total bliss napping in a comfy chair in the UC Life Sciences Library while Michael copied documents. The funniest was the Basingstoke-sporting woman (Basingstoke is our code-word for this or this or this or the queen of all Basingstokes, Miss Aguilera.) who pranced past us in the library with her string bikini underwear high above her low rise jeans.
Anyway, the Colossal Colon was less than colossal, and SF was cold! So we got back on BART and rode all the way out to Concord to find the heat. Got off the train and walked 7 miles back to Walnut Creek BART station. Not the most exciting way to spend an evening, but at least I was warm! Plus we learned all about oak galls. Well, we didn’t actually learn about them that night. We carried one home with us: and looked it up on the internet the next day. Always good to learn something new.
88 degrees here in Berkeley. Feels great. Did 4 (count ’em) loads of laundry, got an iced Chai soy milk latte, and went shopping at my favorite clothing store — Goodwill! Found 4 summer dresses and some T-shirts. I love summer!
Forgot to mention that Ruby and I watched One Hour Photo on DVD yesterday afternoon. Got me thinking a lot about pictures, recording, the things we try to save. And I thought about the last book I read, Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and the book I’m reading now, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything Is Illuminated. Journaling. Art-making. Even tattooing and eyebrow waxing and muscle-building. Impermanence and beauty… please click the links above to read my thoughts on these things. Maybe eventually I will tie them all together in one place. Capture them… in an essay, perhaps. Or a photo. As if one could.
Everything is too heavy this morning. Swollen. Sore. Little weights in the corners of my mouth are pulling this sadness down my face. My skin is too tight for this. Please don’t touch me. Can you get a hangover after a meditation retreat? Or is it because of all the food I stuffed down afterwards? All that granola. And Michael made me a big plate of spaghetti and then watched me eat it. My cable TV doesn’t work! And all these bits of paper, popped balloons, dirty clothes and dishes, moscas en la casa!
Ok. Somehow, I must shower. Put on clothes and get on BART. Lie still for Lilya to do my eyebrows. Trader Joe’s: get that edamame spread & crackers for the girls at work tomorrow? Take Sims Hot Date CD-Rom to Ruby and don’t eat everything in her refrigerator. Nap until time for meditation group. Get TV working and tape Madonna Hollywood video premiere at 11pm. So many simple stupid things. Breathe. None of this means anything. Just do it anyway. When you’re dead, you should be so lucky.
Screw the journey. Everything’s done. Now the reward. Click image:
Friday: Ruby, web site, King Dong chinese food.
Saturday: Long walk to Lake Merritt in flip flops. Just like a teenager at Disney World. Zachary’s Chicago Pizza. A little sunburn? Chai — too sweet — at Jahva Cafe in Oakland. Cut through the cemetery. Tresspassing through the golf course. Michael, you’re so adventurous tonight. Why don’t they lock their gates? All the way home. Flip flops in the dark. How many miles was this?
Sunday: All day meditation retreat in El Cerrito. Slept through every sitting. Funny dreams. Trying to stuff cloves of garlic into the exhaust pipe of a plane to make it go faster. Edamame dip from Trader Joe’s. Wow. (Not a dream.) I wonder if the girls at Aunt Ann’s would like this. At home, depression hits. Hmm. Where did that come from? Whatever. That’s just how it goes.
Monday night meditation group. It’s this tight tightness in my gut, see. Because everyone is fat. Everyone coming off the plane was fat. And everyone in line to get on was fat. All this flesh. And why can’t I see any deeper than flesh, than surfaces, or fortresses? I can’t see. Or I won’t see. But see now I’m burning. And my gut tightens. Hard. Abdominal muscles that I have worked on for so long. Is this what they are meant to do? Squeeze the pain into a fist. Push it back against the chair. Tighten until the tears flow. And see? Jon says. We aren’t so separate. Separateness is an illusion. Yeah, I know, with tears and snot and ragged breaths. I know. But how long have I been sitting here with everyone watching? What do they think of me? Lift me, Jon. Hold me up for a minute. I don’t want to talk. Just let me be