This happened Friday Morning...

yesterday, i went over to my dad's house to organize the boxes of my things. I ran off to the east coast for a while and threw my life in his garage. I've returned, for a while now, but my life remains in his garage. I've gone over there a few times and rooted through it so it is strewn about. So, I went over to put everything in a proper box. I had to do this because my dad is moving my life to his new house. He got re-married (gasp). So, he has a new house with lots of storage space so my life is moving in with his new life. I found the book of stories, "Tell Me," while I was shifting things about. I think I re-discovered it around this time a year ago and while I was sitting in a coffee shop I read my favorite story, "Yours." This story just might be my all-time favorite short story. Three pages that pack a powerful punch. Maybe I am overly emotion (very possible) but this last paragraph always moves me to tears:

At the telephone, Clark had a clear view out back and down to the porch. He wanted to get drunk with his wife once more. He wanted to tell her, from the greater perspective he had, that to own only a little talent, like his, was an awful, plaguing thing; that being only a little special meant you expected too much, most of the time, and liked yourself too little. He wanted to assure he that she had missed nothing.


Thank you Ms. Mary Robison. You are a master.

I am sitting in a coffee shop now and someone who is wearing very strong perfume just sad down near me. How dare they? Their perfume is overwhelming. The guy next to me is working on the New York Times Crossword, on a Friday! What a smarty pants. There is an old man in a fedora style, yet a little too floppy, brown hat sitting by himself looking around. Three middle aged women sit together, one wearing far too much make-up, talking with their hands. There is a blonde talking to a brunette. The blonde has a sensual mouth and small eyes, and I heard her use the phrase, "Party like a rock star." She is wearing shoes with pointy toes. There are five computers open, including mine, all of them macs. The old man just started small talk with a woman sitting next to him. I wonder what they are talking about.

funny face

I am participating in a self-run course called, The Artist's Way. It's all about unblocking your creativity. It's a twelve week course. I am only in week one. Each week there are tasks that you can choose to do. One of the tasks this week was to list five careers you would like besides your own. I feel silly doing this because I don't really have a career that is my "own," so the idea that I would want to do something instead of what I am doing is funny, because I'm not doing anything. I am a dance teacher that currently isn't teaching dance, and I am a writer that doesn't really publish anything (okay, occasionally in The Portland Mercury). So my list was something like: 1. model 2. teacher (i kinda feel like i am already this, maybe. what am i?) 3. filmmaker 4. vet---and I can't remember five. The second part of this task was that you had to do something to persue this career. The example they gave was that if you wanted to be a cowboy, how about going horseback riding. So I was going to take some still pictures that tell a story--on my way to being a filmmaker. But--I have been searching craigslist for something to do and I saw that a model agency was having an open call so I was like, "Perfect." I was kinda excited. I hadn't been on an audition in a long time. I was feeling cute. Two--2!--guys hit on me on my way to the audition. I was thinking--it's in the bag. I walked in the door and there were four girls sitting in chairs, two brunettes that were kind of homely (I am not saying that to be mean, or because of the events that followed--it's just true) and there were two blondes who were kinda cute. All of these girls were of normal build. So this guy--I guess he like ran the agency-- says to me, "Are you here for the open call?" I say, "Yes." He says, "Your look isn't right for us." And I think I said something like, "Okay..." and I turned around and walked out the door. Of course while I was driving home I was thinking, I should have said, "What type of look are you looking for?" "WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME."



I've been though auditioning and I didn't take this personally. I was just excited to like, walk down a fake catwalk and have them take my polaroid. Oh, well. But I wonder if I should try again. Does that even count as trying?