San Francisco

From Thursday to Monday I was completely happy.    A kind of happy that I haven't felt in years, literally. It was so good.  So fucking good.  It was like a hot shower after a week of not showering.  It was like sleeping in your own bed after months away from home.

I cannot remember the last time I was that tired

Saturday the air conditioning went out.  Since the high that day was 104 you can imagine it was pretty miserable.  The house cooled down at about 1 in the morning.  I was asleep by 1:30.  I woke up at 5:30 when the wind blew the mini-blinds out of the window sill with a clunking noise.  There was no sleeping after that.  Didn't matter, I had to be up at 6 anyway. Bucket and I drove 40 minutes to my dad's place to meet my brothers so we could go sailing for Father's day.  From about 8:30-2:30 I was in the sun.  The winds were crazy.  There was no relaxing. Between making sure Bucket stayed in the boat, and making sure I stayed in the boat, the majority of my muscles were tensed the whole time.  We left the lake, but food wasn't ready until 5.  Then I ate until I couldn't force anymore food down my face.  When drove 40 minutes back to my house I took a shower and watched Louis C.K. standup in bed.  I was laughing so hard I was crying.  I was asleep by 10.  I sleep with a pillow over my head.  When I put it on I would have sworn that I could hear a dishwasher running.  My bed is about as far from any kind of appliance that washes things as it can be.  So I lifted the pillow up a tiny bit and all I heard was the fan.  Apparently, I was hearing things.  I slept until 8am.  Bucket is still sleeping.  I'm still tired.  I'm pretty sure I won't stray very far from bed today.

Depression

I'm depressed.  It is no secret.  I am very unhappy.  I need so much to change.  I just can't quiet figure out what it is.  Where am I going?  Fuck, who am I? I can't get it together.  Crying is not the answer, but that is all I can do.  I'm trapped inside my own head.  All I want to do is escape, but I keep getting captured and dragged back to prison.  I'm screaming the whole way, but nobody seems to hear.  It's like a horror movie in my head everyday.

If I can bring myself to focus it takes everything I have.  I'm so exhausted afterwards.

The past few days I have felt a weird disconnect.  I'm having a hard time deciding if this is reality. It must be, but something doesn't feel right about it.  

Said the acupuncturist to the Lauren

"You have really great muscle base, only all of it happens to be balled up in your shoulders right now."


Just so you know, I'm a tiny powerhouse.

A few days ago.

I recently bought a colorsplash color flash.  It takes one AA battery.  I kept forgetting to get some batteries at the store.  I was rummaging though something and found one AA battery.  I was walking around the house with it and lost it.  I couldn't not remember for the life of me where I put the damn thing.  Where could it have possibly gone.

I found it.  This is the window sill behind my bed, right above where my head is.  Usually I am facing the other way.  Today I set my drink on the window sill and found the battery.  There is was with a pug hair on it.  Ridiculous.

Birthday Wishes:

This list is for myself,  of things I will explore, do, buy, etc. this year.

Writers: William Burroughs Jr., J.G. Ballard, Hubert Selby Jr., Bukowski, Donald Goines, John Waters
Write in a journal.  Hand written words. When I go back and read things I write on paper it inspires me,  like I have something living inside me that peeks out occasionally and it whispers, "You're great".
I want to study saints, their story, the typical religious art of that saint, the iconography, the meaning that evolved from their story.  This intrigues me and I have ideas of transposing modern figures into this imagery: The Patron Saints of Lauren.
There used to be a door in mind that was wide fucking open to life.  Now that door is padlocked.  I'm getting the bolt cutters.  Fuck it.  I'm gonna blow the god damn door down with a shotgun.  Whatever it takes.  I need that openness and curiosity about life again.
Explore Jung.
Find woman writers that move me the way Atwood moves me.
Read the books I have in my house.  I'm gonna try 2 a month.  If that is too few.  4 a month.  If 2 is too many than I shouldn't be allowed to breath anymore.
I'm going to try to be the healthiest Lauren I can be, mentally.  I think that involves wading in the shit of life.  That sounds weird, I know. But the more I read about other's struggles the more I realize that something beautiful can come of troubled times.
Create an art journal.  I need a fucking outlet.  Between writing and creating something, even if it is so terrible I never want anybody to see it, this should lance the boil that is my mental anguish.
I let my body stagnate for so long, too long.  When I started exercising I felt better.  I will attempt to do that with my mind.  I need to stir the soup in my head so the black mold doesn't grow quite as thick.

Night at the Club

A friend and I went to a gay bar together.  It's like 10pm and E.M.P.T.Y. Outside bar has THE hottest bartender I have ever seen in my life.  Holy christ.  He gives us a free drink, kinda on the sly.  So, I'm thinking he is straight.  First, he thought that me and my friend are sisters.  I guess when we told him no that he thought that meant we were gay together.  A few drinks later I went inside, wrote my number on a napkin. When we went to get some water I gave him my number.  He was so flustered.  It was really cute.  His hands were shaking.  He couldn't look at me.  I kinda felt bad.  We were really upsetting him.  Then we went inside and danced and I practically got molested by a lady. It was awesome.  We parked next to The Capitol.  So we took our shoes off and walked in the perfectly manicured lawn and laid in the grass.  It was magical.  There were a lot of shooting stars, or maybe I was drunk.  Who cares.  It was good.

You know

You know that moment when you are taking a shit where you don't remember eating anything spicy, but are regretting it. That is a metaphor for my life.