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And to exist it must elude
Aug. 23rd, 2007 07:21 pmI got dressed for work and looked out the window and saw that rain clouds were coming. I assumed it would be a quick summer shower. I elected to leave the umbrella at home, and wore flip flops, since I hate the feeling of wet socks in wet shoes. And the feeling of wet feet, skirting on wet pavements, only millimeters from slipping and falling as a result of flimsy shoes, that is summer to me, that is every afternoon thundershower that comes out of nowhere and drenches you for a few seconds, then half an hour later, the sun is back out.
This, however, was no summer afternoon shower. I was on the blue line train, above ground, and saw us speed into the grey clouds of mist, rain slanted in all directions, gutters immediately flooded by the downpour. It was amazing to watch out the window, amazing to be speeding into it, through it. Strangely, I still wasn't convinced. I thought I would exit in the Loop and it would be dry, or rather, recently wetted but no longer raining. Instead I was skitting across the pavement, huddled up against buildings while waiting for walk signs on the corner. I got into the building and didn't feel too drenched. In the elevator was the first sign it was real weather -- a stranger talked to me. People in Chicago don't really talk to each other on a regular basis, unless exciting weather is happening -- a snowstorm, subzero temperatures, 100 degree temp with 99% humidity. The woman on the elevator informed me there were flash flood warnings. Perhaps my festive idea of leaving the umbrella at home wasn't particularly wise.
The office closed early, which seemed a bit strange, sending everyone home and out INTO it, though not everyone really took advantage of it. Most people probably waited for it to blow over, so they ended up leaving right at 5, which was maybe still early for them, depending on the person. I was asked to stay, which wasn't a problem, and I was assured it would be "made worth my while" by my official boss. I don't know what that means. I hope it means they won't be mad when I'm not in the office tomorrow, because I'm flying out to SF for a brief trip to help![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drinkasyoupour move out and start a new section of her life.
The water especially isn't bothering me so much, given I've been thinking about it so much. Yesterday morning I had more work done on my tattoo, and it is finally starting to look more like I initially conceived. I don't mind at all that its been an ongoing work in progress, but I'm also excited to see the end result is near. I have way more ink now, more depth, it's darker, and it creeps down my arm, up my neck, and it is more figurative waves of water, not just abstracted swooshes that imply waves. It fits exactly how I envisioned, almost better because its really there, whereas in my head it was a fuzzy visual I had attempted to convey with my non-artist vocabulary. She did a lot of great stuff in just 2 hours. We had some interesting talks about different sects of buddhism and fantasy lives and al-anon and relationship expectations and integrity and happiness and most importantly there was a 4 week old kitten who was super cute and who I cuddled for part of the time while being worked on.
This time, I tried the immediate hot water washing after the tattooing, as recommended by a different tatto artist to a friend whose tattoos look stellar and always freshly inked. Its so strange how there is such competing advice on after care, some of which is directly contradicting (use a small amount of neosporin v. don't use ANY product with antibacterial). At the end of the day, it probably doesn't make tons of different.
I have been slightly anxious, on and off all day, a mix of several things, including out of my writing habit and also getting on a plane tomorrow and doing more travelling. But tomorrow morning I can get an hour in, and then I'll pack my bag and that will fix at least a few of the things worrying me. After therapy today, I was thinking about some of my frequent inclinations in how I deal with emotions, and visualized it as something like a telephone switchboard. Except sometimes when one line is ringing, all of them light up. So I get overwhelmed and try to deal with all of them. When really, I just need to find the one real emotion that's calling. Um, maybe some things work better in my head then when written out.
Because really, all that matters is this very instance is that there are leftover cookies in the next room and I need to plot a way to get them into my bag and home.
This, however, was no summer afternoon shower. I was on the blue line train, above ground, and saw us speed into the grey clouds of mist, rain slanted in all directions, gutters immediately flooded by the downpour. It was amazing to watch out the window, amazing to be speeding into it, through it. Strangely, I still wasn't convinced. I thought I would exit in the Loop and it would be dry, or rather, recently wetted but no longer raining. Instead I was skitting across the pavement, huddled up against buildings while waiting for walk signs on the corner. I got into the building and didn't feel too drenched. In the elevator was the first sign it was real weather -- a stranger talked to me. People in Chicago don't really talk to each other on a regular basis, unless exciting weather is happening -- a snowstorm, subzero temperatures, 100 degree temp with 99% humidity. The woman on the elevator informed me there were flash flood warnings. Perhaps my festive idea of leaving the umbrella at home wasn't particularly wise.
The office closed early, which seemed a bit strange, sending everyone home and out INTO it, though not everyone really took advantage of it. Most people probably waited for it to blow over, so they ended up leaving right at 5, which was maybe still early for them, depending on the person. I was asked to stay, which wasn't a problem, and I was assured it would be "made worth my while" by my official boss. I don't know what that means. I hope it means they won't be mad when I'm not in the office tomorrow, because I'm flying out to SF for a brief trip to help
drinkasyoupour move out and start a new section of her life.The water especially isn't bothering me so much, given I've been thinking about it so much. Yesterday morning I had more work done on my tattoo, and it is finally starting to look more like I initially conceived. I don't mind at all that its been an ongoing work in progress, but I'm also excited to see the end result is near. I have way more ink now, more depth, it's darker, and it creeps down my arm, up my neck, and it is more figurative waves of water, not just abstracted swooshes that imply waves. It fits exactly how I envisioned, almost better because its really there, whereas in my head it was a fuzzy visual I had attempted to convey with my non-artist vocabulary. She did a lot of great stuff in just 2 hours. We had some interesting talks about different sects of buddhism and fantasy lives and al-anon and relationship expectations and integrity and happiness and most importantly there was a 4 week old kitten who was super cute and who I cuddled for part of the time while being worked on.
This time, I tried the immediate hot water washing after the tattooing, as recommended by a different tatto artist to a friend whose tattoos look stellar and always freshly inked. Its so strange how there is such competing advice on after care, some of which is directly contradicting (use a small amount of neosporin v. don't use ANY product with antibacterial). At the end of the day, it probably doesn't make tons of different.
I have been slightly anxious, on and off all day, a mix of several things, including out of my writing habit and also getting on a plane tomorrow and doing more travelling. But tomorrow morning I can get an hour in, and then I'll pack my bag and that will fix at least a few of the things worrying me. After therapy today, I was thinking about some of my frequent inclinations in how I deal with emotions, and visualized it as something like a telephone switchboard. Except sometimes when one line is ringing, all of them light up. So I get overwhelmed and try to deal with all of them. When really, I just need to find the one real emotion that's calling. Um, maybe some things work better in my head then when written out.
Because really, all that matters is this very instance is that there are leftover cookies in the next room and I need to plot a way to get them into my bag and home.
