I want something messy. Gritty. I want it covered in a thick layer of powdered dirt, haphazardly brushed away to reveal jagged glass and rusted bronze. It's going to be tattered in all the wrong places, threadbare beyond use. Disheveled. Gnarled. A chaotic farrago of texture.
I want it free from consecration, free from all those tiny grubby hands smoothing and polishing its surface into some bland, gilded mockery. I want it harsh, and course. It should feel like bare skin scraping against a cragged branch, or running the tips of your fingers along a rugged brick wall.
I want it feral. Lost in its own anarchic gravitational core, aggravated and awkward, bound by a lawless and raffish nature. I want it wild and unashamed. Rolling with frenzied joy through golden miles of tall, bristly hay that scratches our calves and tickles that secret curve at the base of your neck like newborn lace.
Lie in it, lie in it and relish with me the feel of dirt creeping under your nails as we draw stormy, abstract figures in the crumbling terrain. It's a discarded, smoky wasteland and it's just ripe for our play.
Things I did not want to be doing during highway traffic this morning:
-Balancing hot coffee in my lap (because my cup holders are ancient and were designed before the age of the Venti, or the medium-sized soft drink)
-Holding up my rear view mirror in order to see the frustrated mob forming behind my car as I avoid hitting anything above 55 mph (I'm in the slow lane, there are several legal maneuvers at your disposal Mr. Angry Mercedes)
-Stitching together my pants with needle and thread. This seems self-explanatory.
I'm going to need a lot of coffee tomorrow.
Before we continue, let me clarify something: I am not superstitious. The number thirteen is sacred to me (I was born at 13:00 hours on september 13th, so let that be justification) and sometimes I like to think a full moon can indicate universal approval for actions coinciding on that special night. Tripartite symbology is a familial hobby (three sisters), and I don't believe in coincidences. But most of the time I like to think of myself as a sane, level-headed, competent individual.
Now, that being said, let's talk about karma.
I just realized I'm in hot water come Monday. See, I'm interviewing for a job that has everything to do with California politics, and for all of my news reading and current events know-how, I know nothing about California politics. I am mildly aware of the economic crisis that is threatening our entire state (I know that they're cutting my financial aid with less concern than the prison system, and thanks to Criminology class I know that's bullshit). I am fully aware of the constitutional questions facing a certain Prop 8 we recently passed, and the downsides to Prop 2 (upside to living with animal science majors). I know we have water shortage issues, and that I'm not allowed to water my lawn after 10am. There's also something about building a new dam near Davis.
Yeah, that's the extent of my local knowledge. I consciously skip over anything that doesn't start with, "today in washington.." as being irrelevant. I've just always thought that national issues deserved my attention over the drawling of cow town. This may stem from the fact that I keep bouncing between states, so stuffing my brain with factoids that are immaterial to my next home seems like a waste of intellectual resources. I don't see myself living in Davis beyond my college, and maybe law school, years. I may not even be in California. And you miss so much when you focus on the microscopic, like the broader determinants of unfortunate situations. Why focus on the foreclosures in Yolo County when the same thing is happening in Wyoming and Pennsylvania?
Although, there are specific issues that ground me to the community. I want to preserve the independent and communal nature of our city, and the idea of a Target or (god forbid) a Walmart coming into the city limits warrants serious consideration. But you know what? I don't live here, not really. I don't have to worry about driving out to Woodland to buy cheap Target products, and whether or not I'll be back in time to cook dinner and pick the kids up from soccer practice. There are real people who have chosen to spend a significant chunk of their lives here, and their vote should count more than my ideological urban-planning ambitions. Yes, I like the quaint character of Davis, and I feel that would be ruined by corporate conglomerates building their labor-exploiting nests within these walls. But I also know that I'm going home in a few weeks, and can stockpile on economical commodities then. So even if my attentions are tempted by local conerns, they won't receive much action, because I don't feel it's my place to act.
Nevertheless, leaving aside my feelings above, extenuating circumstances have introduced a very big reason why I need to become aware -- and fast. I'm starting with the LA Times articles and Sac Bee headlines, then some KQED California Reports from NPR. If you know of anything that would help me out, please let me know. I need all the compacted news I can get.
(2) I have 50 days until the LSAT. Yikes. But I might be enrolled in a prep class starting next week, in which case my failure is based on education rather than personal skills. I can live with that. And thanks to needing a recommendation for the class, I have a sweet professor lined up for law school apps. Yay for being ahead of the game.
(3) I have an interview on Monday ~! There are tons of things to be excited about, even if I won't get paid and it really has nothing to do with my future career. But it's thrilling that I got a call back so soon regardless.
(4) I baked!! One crunchy, warm apple crisp, served with vanilla bean ice cream. It came out with juice underneath because I used the wrong type of apples, but that was done on purpose to see the result. It's delicious anyways.
A three hour conversation with two family members to compile the letter and edit final versions.
A handwriting-practice session where I wrote the letter out about five times.
Three different cards and one extra envelope, because the handwriting didn't come out well in the previous versions.
I just failed as a functioning adult.
I'm not sure what else there is to say about that.
My sister is waging psychological warfare on the ants campaigning for her cat's food dish. A normal person would spray the ants with poison, vacuum the offended area, and remove any remaining material that might attract another swarm. Not my sister. Relying on instinctual theory, she surmised that ant scouts returned to their camp with a message that was either positive, or negative. By conducting mass-killings, she was only removing the possibility of an ant informing its critter superiors that her room was off-limits. However, by destroying only a portion of the forces (say, around the entrance point), she was effectively informing the rest of the ants "come this way, and death be your reward." The emotional trauma of having to scamper through their fallen comrades to retreat to their base, should leave a lasting impression on plans for future incursions.
This is either a new low, or a new personal best.
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