Dreamed I was your landlord, I showed your place when you had lovers.

I'd like to share an excerpt from Kerouac's On The Road with anyone that may be reading:

Crossing the Oakland Bay Bridge I slept for the first time since Denver soundly; so that I was rudely jolted in the bus station at Market and Third into the memory of the fact that I was in San Francisco three thousand two hundred miles from my mother's house in Ozone Park, Long Island. I wandered out like a haggard ghost, and there she was, Frisco, long bleak streets with trolley wires all shrouded in fog and whiteness. I stumbled about a few blocks. Weird bums (it was Mission st.) asked me for dimes in the dawn. I heard music somewhere.

This sums it up for me, I think. I never felt more connected to a piece of writing than I do to this one. I still am jolted by that thought of being so far away from my mother's house on Long Island two years later. The description of wandering and the description of the fog. The weird bums of Mission Street! Yes! Yes! They're still here, Jack!

Saturday, Andy's other other band, Tatanka Iyotake played a house show. As usual, I attended via public transportation armed with a six pack (+ one) of Budweiser. I ran into people I wasn't expecting to run into, it wasn't as awkward as it could have been but there was definitely some sexual tension. I hitched a ride to 29th Street where a few people and the occupants stayed up for a while. I was just about finished with my beers and was having more handed to me.

I enjoyed some nachos and we ended up listening to Irish folk music, legit Irish folk. It was fantastic and I hope to get some of my own to listen to on my own time. As the hours passed and more beer was consumed, more cigarettes were smoked, my eyes also became heavier.

The next day was a punk generator show in Golden Gate Park. I left the Mission house and returned to mine to get my car and a breakfast bar. At the park, I met up with some dudes who were also lost and looking for the horseshoe pits where the show was being held. There was a barbecue (I'd bought some sweet italian sausage) and punk bands and skateboards and beer and soda. I interacted with few people all day and yet I still felt accepted, embraced and not-judged by those people. It was a perfect way to spend a perfect Sunday. On my drive back toward home, I gave some buddies a lift to their car. I my friends, this circle of friends. I hope to hold onto them and this feeling no matter where I live, who I live with etc. They are wonderful people and I feel that way whether I'm drunk, sober, high, low whatever. I need to spend more time with them than I do, either that or I need to turn 21.

My life is turning around. I feel an incredible sense of independence and self-sufficience. How much of this is related to re-reading On The Road I'm not sure. But I feel fantastic.

Can you hear the sound of machines all breaking down?

I wonder if there is an afterlife (which I believe there is) do our loved ones from there think it's ridiculous that we hold on to silly, trivial material things in their memory. Today I threw away my roommate, Daniel's, empty bottle of conditioner and apologized to him as I did so. He died in September, since then there's just been an empty bottle of conditioner taking up space in the bathroom. I can't help but think it to be the most ridiculous thing I've done, to apologize to the air for throwing it away. I guess it's different from the 24 karat gold pen set that my dad gave me to write my first novel with, or the typewiter that belonged to him and I'm sure he'd be happy that I hold those things so close. But, seriously, bottle of conditioner. I feel silly for even analyzing it so much.

I went to the San Francisco Zoo today for my anthropology class. This is the first time I'm taking an anthroplogy class and two months into it, I'm finally interested. We watched the Lemurs which really are spectacular creatures, the way they jump and are affectionate toward one another. One started barking and then the rest of them followed. Why can't we be more like those that we evolved from? Why is there no sense of community in the Human world? Lemurs don't care what color they are, they don't care if they're holding hands with a male or a female. They love each other and they don't care who knows it. It truly is wonderful to see but kind of terrifying that humans can't do the same.

I took the M-Ocean View to Church and Market today and then took the 22-Fillmore to Fillmore and California. I sat in a Peet's with my laptop, sipping on the same medium Mocha Freddo and working pretty intently on this story while listenening to music for 3 hours. It felt great. I got 4 pages written in a really tiny font and I'm really proud of what I wrote. I sent it off for my old Creative Writing professor to read. Hopefully he'll have some positive and constructive feedback. It's a really wonderfully empowering feeling to know that I have something that can never be taken away--my writing. I love that. I love that I can do that.

In worried piles I typed for miles

At San Francisco General Hospital on the 4th floor, room 4M there is an ophtolmology/neurosurgery/ear-nose-throat clinic. I frequented this clinic for follow-up visits after I fractured my skull in 2006. This is also where I got my eyeware prescription and I made my way back there today to get a copy of said prescription now that my current glasses are on their way out. On the way from the elevators to the clinic on the left side there's a series of inpatient wards and an intensive care unit. On the right side there's room 4E which is the ICU waiting room which I only really noticed today.

It brought back memories of waiting in the ICU waiting room at the Long Island Jewish Healthcare hospital in Plainview while I did my best but was never quite able to grasp what was going on while we waited to visit my sick Grandfather one-by-one. It was sad, especially when the family waiting with us left in tears. That was my thought today walking past 4E, especially since it appeared to be overflowing with people--the person that these people are here to say might die. Perhaps it's a morbid thought, but it made me sympathize and of course being in ICU doesn't mean certain death and of course those people could have left with all loved ones alive and well. Still it made me wonder if anyone was waiting in the ICU waiting room for me while I was unconscious. I can think of one, but I wonder if he was there with anyone else. Now, luckily, on my way out of 4M, a significant chuck on those waiting in 4E left at the same time and were laughing and enjoying each others' company. I hope that meant good things for them.

rabbit rabbit

If I've learned nothing else about love and life from Jawbreaker/Blake Schwarzenbach, I do know that the first thing you say on the first day of each month is Rabbit Rabbit for good luck.

I suppose I should begin this whole blogging experience with an introduction. But I won't. I'll just say that this is going to be a venue for me to coherently express frustrations, questions, ramblings about life, mostly human relationships, sometimes college and work. I'm not exactly sure yet but people are welcome to read, though I don't know how much people want to hear about me and my boring little life. Though I guess maybe it'll provide some insight into the life of a 20-year-old full-time student, part-time admin punk rock lady. Stay tuned!