withdrawal symptoms

Unsurprising, yes, that I am withdrawing,

and so it goes.


Scott got me hooked on “24” with the DVDs of the first season. Some of my fondest memories of spending time with him this past year involved curling up on the couch and watching five or six episodes straight. Then he sent me the second season on DVD not too long ago, and I finally broke them open the other night.

Yesterday I watched eight episodes. I almost did not stop to eat. But I did. I had baked beans and watched another one.

Saturday night, I bought tickets for “The Return of the King” on Fandango and drove into the city to pick up the MSG. We were supposed to see it on Wednesday night, but I was still recovering from the Evil Death Flu of Doom.

When I hit Divisadero and California, I knew it was going to be an interesting night. All the lights were out. All of them. We drove past the theatre anyway, just to check. Nope.

The night was not a wash, though, since I finally got to eat at the MSG’s favorite sushi place, which is a wonderful place indeed. Mojitos and yet another fascinating discussion of politics at Bliss; I became overwhelmed with a moment, watching the vertical shadows that the light fixtures threw on the red wall: mint in my mouth, thick scarf around my neck, his hand on the small of my back. At once, I felt what I could only term the Outside of me – the me that always watches myself, always evaluates, and second-guesses as well – melt away. It left; it seeped out of my fingertips and along the bar and out into the chilled night.

A valiant attempt at creating a cocktail from carrot juice and gin resulted in orange silt in a martini glass when the lights came back on, abruptly, with a noise like the television turning on although it wasn’t, just before six o’clock. I sat bolt upright in bed and announced, “I will turn everything off.” But I left the fan on, we discovered hours later. Odd to touch every switch in a row but that one. My reason was: more air. Give me more to breathe.

There are now cappuccino-flavored almonds in the back seat of my car, and I still haven’t seen the movie I waited a year to see, and not half of my holiday shopping is done, and I’m dying to know what happens next in “24”, and I lost as many friends as I made this year. I can’t figure it all out; I can’t even think about it, most days.

And you know, the Outside came back, creeping in as I drove alone over the big tomato-red bridge. At least now I know she can go away for a while. At least now I know.

Current mood: Current music:

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.