Were you looking for my reaction?

This morning after putting together a job application for the public library and watching trans kids and their parents on Oprah, I sat down to translate this same poem that's been haunting me for over two weeks. After reading version after version, it's hard to believe new ways of writing it could come out of my brain, but something always does.

Except, I think my second version is best.

( To the Tune, a poem in the tzu form by Li-Ching Chao )

This poem breaks me every time I look at the translated characters and try to wrestle with making it into an american english poem that will adequately express the heartache of the poet who's writing about re-living simple memories of her late husband who she completely loved and was killed.

And then to add to the emotional gutwrenching, I've been listening to Arvo Part's Sanctuary on the stereo. The other night I was thinking about Educating Esme and how I hadn't spoken with her in a few weeks, so I called her up and left a message. Then last night when I was looking for music to set the scene of my mini-manifestation ritual, I remembered that she gave me this CD several years ago and I loved it but hadn't listened to it in awhile. (I spend so much time listening to music on the computer, I forget about all the albums I own on CD and vinyl.) I listened to it last night twice. The first time while trying not to freak out about waiting to hear back from a job and my loss of income because Kingdom Come was cancelled on Friday. The second time while reading on the couch which later turned to half-dozing except I never fell fully asleep because my brain kept following the violins and I started having imageless dreams -- they were only sound. It felt like I was really hearing the music. So this morning I put it on again, wanting more.

It's grey and beautiful outside. I was going to go downtown to hand-deliver my application to Harold Washington Library, but instead I will consolidate all my various pieces of mail that need sending and bike in the mist to the post office before winding my way elsewhere. I have an itch to go, to travel, to escape. Even if only for an hour through the unexplored residential streets of the west side of Chicago.

You saddle up to settle down.

Sometimes days just don't go as planned.

I went down to the basement and grabbed my bike. It felt weird. I looked down and the front tire was flat. FLAT flat. Like tube busted flat. So I walked it to Boulevard Bikes, thinking I'd drop it off, walk to the post office, then come back and pick it up. Except, they weren't busy at all. This one guy was there and was terribly interested in all of the events surrounding the messed up tire and then explaining to me all of the possible causes. It sounds a little tedious, but it was actually half-informative, half-endearing. It helped that he was cute with these quirky eyeglasses and tight racing shirt with muscular arms slinking out of it. For some reason I kept noticing his chin, I guess what one would call a strong chin, with a cleft, and two day old stubble and I just wanted to lick it. Even when he was being a little goofy.

So I ended up being in the bike shop for nearly an hour, because he took apart the wheel, started to pump the tube then noticed the huge hole. So he replaced the tube, but the wheel seemed to be busting out of the rim, so he said I could probably get by without a new tire for awhile if money was tight, but I figured I might as well replace it now, otherwise it'll bust the tube again and I'll have to pay for that as well. And geez, while I'm using a credit card, let's buy this tail-light to decrease my chances of dying while riding at night. But I still got a good deal on everything, including labor.

I finally got outside and it was dark. Like, twilight dark. I went to the post office anyway. I got there and realized that I must have dreamed a copier was there, because there was no copier. Ah well. I stood in line and tried not look outside too often to see if the downpour had started. When my turn in line came, I got the postal worker I usually get who I realized I now have a crush on. She's super fast and efficient and sometimes comes off as short, but she's actually really really nice in this way that when she tells me to have a good evening, I can actually tell she's this optimistic postive person who means it. Ridiculous, I know. But I bought a sheet of stamps and she asked if I wanted a certain kind. "Why just get the boring ones? Do you want artsy or quirky or.....?" And then she pulled out this huge handful of sheets and spread them out in front of me with this sexy grin. I wanted the Mary Cassatt stamps but didn't want to look gay. I chose the Buckminster Fuller ones with the geodome head instead. "I'll take the weird ones," I said. She folded them up to put in an envelope while saying, "we call those 'quirky'."

I stepped outside and it was even darker. It hadn't quite started raining, but any second. I did a quick stormwatcher assessment of the cloud line, and decided to ride south, away from my home, than go west. I was following a line break in the clouds. I made it to Kimball before it started raining, just barely. I raced through the intersection at Diversey, not realizing how close to cars and buses and an ambulance until after the fact, then as I came around the back alley of our street it started raining. Perfect timing. I don't actually mind getting wet, it's just with wearing glasses, it makes vision impossible. It didn't pour until I was safe inside.

So, no long bike ride. More money spent than I'd like but at least my bike is working. No financial aid form mailed (I'd faxed it, but the incompetent counselor e-mailed me, so I figured mailing might be just as fast at this point). But now I'll probably curl into bed and read and dream of job interviews and freelance articles.