I am a busy Hindu god. One hand holds a flower. And one hand holds a flaming golden axe, ready to cut down my enemies. One hand holds a pen to write my script. Another hand writes someone else’s. Another hand types my emails. Another wipes a tear away for my doggies, who are far away and who I miss very much.

One hand vacuums the carpet, to keep the house looking nice for visitors who don’t come. Another wipes the sweat off my brow for a job well done. One hand always stays on the wheel of my new truck, to keep me going in a straigt line. Another hand pops a Xanax into my mouth to twist me up a little. One hand holds a book I’m reading but not retaining. One hand scratches my ass. And one hand holds my genitals as I take the piss test.

Six more hands reach out for my friends, who I love very much and want to help be successful. Another hand is there for my new boss, and I’m grateful he likes my work. And another is there for my clients on the side. One hand is always there for my wife. I hope she takes it again someday and pulls me back into her life. Another hand lights a cigarette and pops the cap on a beer to help with the stress of it all. Another hand fucks with the radio knob to find a good song to pass the time. And my last hand waves away more barbeque ribs. Dear god, I can’t take any more meat.

I’ve got two feet dug deep into the dirt, to hold me in place with so much pushing against me. My third eye is darting back and forth, alert for treacherous knaves. A single horn in the middle of my head points produly upward, and my trunk is wound around a delicious peanut.

Only one mind tries to keep track of it all. It can only focus on one at a time and it makes me so tired.

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if any of you reading this are familiar with bedford ave in williamsburg, brooklyn, you know that it is a one way street, pretty heavily traveled, and is one lane. so i’m walking south on bedford today, and a fire truck comes barreling down bedford ave. and you guessed it, they decide the smartest idea is to go the wrong way down a one way street. this of course wreaked havoc on traffic and was completely inefficient, seeing as most every other street in williamsburg is less traveled and MUCH easier to navigate a fire truck down. it is worth saying also that this was one of those 2 driver fire engines, with a driver steering the back end as well.
so this fire truck is driving down a one way street the wrong way, honking its horn, blowing its siren, and telling other cars to get out of the way. okay smart guys, where are these cars supposed to go? you are BLOCKING THEIR WAY!! certainly not the smartest thing i’ve ever seen the fire department do. i watch as the front driver yells at a lady in a car to drive forward when there is a ridiculously small gap between her car, the fire truck and the parked car on the street. he is impatient, yelling at her to hurry up, so frazzled by all this, she obliges and ends up scratching the parked car because this firefighter is forcing her to move her car in a space where it obviously doesn’t fit.
i walk by the parked car after this has happened in front of me, and sure enough it is scratched. this really pissed me off, that these firefighters would be so idiotic to drive down a one way street like this. i could understand if it was the only option, but come on. williamsburg does not have that much traffic to begin with, and they decide to drive down the most heavily traveled street the wrong way? WTF?

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I bought a tome of koans and, in it, found a poem written by a man I’d met just once. He intimidated or irritated me, I couldn’t tell which at the time, but we didn’t forget each other. In the months since, he has smiled at me more than strangers do, has held the door open and abandoned the sharp breaths that introduce questions. A mouth like a high hat. He never asks why.

Back home, a woman screams on a mute television in my father’s house. In my mother’s home, I watch the first of three acts of a crime show dramatization of my life with that plaintiff. My mother contracts and shrinks, turns off the television on what she imagines to be my behalf, and I never see the ending. I never see the ending, so I write my own, over and over. My sweetheart tells me she wants a warning label tattooed on her hip; I say I want another poem tattooed on my thigh. She asks which one and I tell her the title of the piece by my half-stranger, but I don’t tell her anything else. She always asks questions. I love her and I love his unfinished symphonies so differently. The movements come on so quick.

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one of my great joys working at the bookstore is getting to, for lack of a better word, subject the general public to my music choices. it hearkens back, i guess, to my days as a DJ. i’m also enjoying bringing older CDS with me to work and “redeiscovering” them. today’s picks are moby’s “18″, fiona apple’s “when the pawn…”, beth orton’s “central reservation”, and nirvana unplugged. a very nice mix and a reminder of how much i love each of these albums, particularly the last. i have definitely been one of those slightly scary people who is sining/humming slightly louder than under their breath tonight. i wonder if it’s scaring people away, but don’t really care too much if it is.

i’ve been really clumsy today. i keep dropping books and knocking into things. i feel as though my equilibrium is a little off. funny to feel that way now as for almost 2 weeks i think i had water trapped in my ear from a swimming pool excursion. i didn’t feel particularly off balance then, though i did feel slightly elderly when i kept having to ask people to repeat themselves. then one day i woke up and it was gone, although i did not notice it immediately. i wonder how all that works.

i find myself strangely and perhaps uncharacteristically enamored with the quaint little town of which i will soon be a resident. staunton has cute little stores, two movie theaters (one first-runs one artsy), a drive-in, lots of little coffeehouses and cafes. it has its own playhouse, a gorgeous park (with pool – yay!), and tons of hills for excursions with one’s dog. i wish i were already there.

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senor cardgage is so cool…

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i’ve got three shifts left at my now-beloved, ragtag little bookstore, the first of which is presently taking place. it’s about 90 outside and the shy is prematurely darkening with the threat of an evening summer shower. i’ve got a nice weird mix of johnny cash, madonna, and the beatles in the store stereo and i’m sighing a little.

i’ve been reluctant to start labelling my “lasts” in BK, but jane, my shrink therapist (in our, er, final session today) encouraged me to totally go with the one-lasts (italian ice, fresh juice at second helpings) and finals (stalk and walks past the williams/ledgers*) and going aways (dinners with friends). i think she thinks i’ll bottle up my sadness at leaving new york and won’t work through it if i don’t pointedly acknowledge my imminent departure.

i pointed out that it seems a little silly to be all nutty with goodbyes when i will be back so soon – next week, in fact, just days after my official exodus, i will be back to take care of some paperwork for a grant i was found eligible for. and i’m going to take a bus up a little earlier so i can go to one last meeting of my gilda’s club wednesday night group – the most regular and dependable part of my life over the past year. i wasn’t quite ready for my last one of those last night.

overall, i think jane made some good points, but i just haven’t really felt into the whole goodbye thing, other than about gilda’s. i’m planning no going away party or last blowout before i leave the city. i have been talked a little into dinner with people tomorrow night at red bamboo, my favorite vegetarian place here, and that is really all i want. she pointed out that i’m not being a traitor to todd or my decision to move by being sad about leaving, which hit a nerve somewhere. i did warn him last weekend that should (ha) i get emotional in the next week during this transition, that it’s not a reflection of him.

part of me is scared, too, of going into total meltdown mode as i did last year this time when i moved here. it was so scary and i felt so out of control; i can’t help but think i would do most anything to not have that happen again. i figured everything would fall into glittery, sparkly place once i was finally in the place i had always wanted to be, physically. and i worry that try as i might to resist it, the persistently romantic side of me that tends to take over has the same pie-in-the-sky hopes for living with todd. i’m not trying to force pessimism on myself by any means, but rather trying to be realistic about my expectations of what will happen once i am where i have always wanted to be, relationship-wise.

raise your hand if you think i should just shut up and stop analyzing.

yeah, me too.

* i must note this report of my obsession’s move out of brooklyn, also. i swear coincidence!

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i’m in packing hell. yuck. todd motivates me nicely from procrastinating by alternately promising me presents and threatening to withold sex. it’s a fun game.

i have the tv on continually while i pack in order to prevent myself from going absolutely bananas. i just saw a commerical from a new oscar mayer product which is touted as the ultimate convenience – a hot dog already stuck in a bun, individually wrapped and ready to microwave. i was instantly compelled to post about this product and bemoan how lazy our society members must be to make this a viable product, but then i realized that if they made a veggie dog version, i bet i’d buy them. hm.

i went to the oscar mayer website to find a link to this innovation and although it is not listed as a product yet, i was fascinated to find that weiner patrol is provided as an entertainment option.

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