SUMMIT: Bearhat Mountain
Glacier park is... Hizzoly Shizzat... Just the Pants, ma�am.
The illustrated version!!
Talk about a fsking grunt. What the heck is a bearHAT anyway? I guess it�s supposed to be shaped like this. Yeah, that�s what we climbed. All eight-thousand, six-hundred feet of it. OK, that�s a lie. We really gained only like 2,600 feet of elevation from Logan Pass but that�s counting the 500 feet we lost to get to the base. All the rest of the elevation was gained in the last mile. But no, we kept going right on up to the north summit where we overlooked the mountains west of the divide over to Logan Pass.

For an eight hour hike, we did some serious climbing without mishap. Well, almost without mishap. On the way down from the summit and about halfway to the bottom of the mountain we were tailed by a rather large, curious mountain goat who followed us another quarter of the way down the mountain. Closely and with great interest. Justin thought it was cute until it poked out on some CLIFFS about three feet from my HEAD. I think it was trying to rape me. We had to high-tail it down the mountain to get some place where the goat wouldn�t knock us fifteen feet down a ravine but we were followed, much to my dismay. I can�t believe I was that terrified of a fucking GOAT but it was a male who could have, potentially, for some hidden goat-reason, been aggressive in a bad way. That and I was always last so the goat was closest to me. I was, however, the one carrying the Bear Mace� five seconds and thirty feet worth of high-grade pepper spray. I think it works on goats, too. WHY in God's name was it following us for so long and so close? Murray, when I asked if I could have goats and you told me, �baby, you can have all the goats you want,� this is NOT what I meant!!!

That was the most serious incident of the day. Aside from arriving back at the parking lot at 8:30 PM in the dark and not eating dinner until 10:30, the hike went well. We arrived at the base of the mountain at noon and summited by three. Unfortunately, even fleeing from the goat and stopping to ogle the little pokemon dolphin-bunny things twittering around the rocks, we took as long to get down the mountain as UP it and still had to climb (grunting and complaining all the way) out of the basin. It was also ass-cold out there, especially in the morning coming over the saddle down into the basin. And, as you can see, Murray and I are wearing shorts. �Are your legs cold?� One hiker asked, �That�s all right, we�re impressed,� he said.

I was grateful for the shorts while we were climbing, as we had to scale several levels of cliffs and after all the work we were sweating hard. But it still struck us all as impressive when we came upon icicles in one of the crevasses we were climbing, even in an area shielded from the wind. For the most part, we were warm. When we got to the summit, we ran for the cairn, looked for the registed (didn�t find it) and fled from the exposure as fast as we could. My GOD was it cold up there! But three feet down from the summit, even on a gentle slope, was completely out of the wind. We rested for maybe half an hour and hauled ass down the mountain. By the time we got home it was pitch black and it had been hours since any of us had sat down. Our legs and arms complained in ways we hadn�t heard before and we walked like geriatrics with sticks up our asses. You should have seen us totter around the kitchen making dinner. It looked like a regular retirement home.

Nothing a few glasses of wine and some Aleve couldn�t fix, in my mind. ZONK.

That was Monday in Glacier and a good start to a good week. We arrived on Saturday night after spending Thursday night (in at 3:30 AM�. Gag) and Friday in Helena. Friday was a lazy day recouping from 14 hours in the car the day previous. Next time we get a hotel. Met up with Beverly who has been gutting her house where she and Tim lived together until recently. Both Time and Bev�s living accommodations have been quite a bit different since they split up� each to their own now and they�ve chosen to go quite different directions. Tim�s new house is MARVELOUS and Bev�s done good things with the place on Rodney st. Though I know it�s tough to see memories change, especially for Justin. I can�t imagine what it must be like for Bev (especially spending the last three months sleeping outside and showering where she could find water as her house was ripped up). We all cope with change in our own ways.

Wend down Rodney st. to visit some more old memories. Spent an hour or two talking to Richard Swanson about life, school, pottery, etc. Showed Murray his studio and walked around out back. I�d say it�s been a while since I�ve been back to that house but I guess I was there over New Years Eve. It�s the first time I�ve been in Helena during the summertime for � four summers and even now the seasons were changing in a chilly way that gave me the impression it�s perpetually winter there.

We headed out around 1:30 Saturday after stocking up on everything we could possibly need including venison and fantastic pot. We arrived to be greeted by more family (I�ve met most of Justin�s family that I hadn�t seen before this week) and were taken out to dinner at an obscenely fancy restaurant called Heaven�s Peak, after one of the more impressive mountains here(we're contemplating climbing it). Jeez does Alex Speyer love wine. Left us three bottles of at least thirty dollar stuff. We�re drinking it with BBQed chicken and Spaghetti. Yum, classy! We also have way too much food since Justin�s aunt and uncle left about a week�s worth of stuff here when they left. It means we�ll probably be leaving with about as much stuff as we came in with since we planned our meals and shopped for them before coming here. Oh well, we are starving students! (yuk yuk, that�s a big joke)

Sunday we hiked to Huckeberry lookout, a twelve mile hike (6 up, 6 back) east of the park entrance near Apgar village. Technically it was a summit but was class one hiking (on trail, very slight incline� no switchbacks even) all the way to the top. No register to be found there, either! Dammit, will I be able to leave my signature nowhere in the park this year?? (see, we all got a bit frustrated) The walk was pleasant, and a good warmup, but impending weather made us nervous on the way back. That, and it was f*cking LONG. Even on the slight grade, twelve miles seems like a lot. We saw no one else the whole day and were surrounded by complete wilderness in absolute quiet. Saw a few birds (one titmouse and a brown ptarmigan) and nothing else in the way of wildlife. Murray liked the stump though. Luckily for us, there were still ripe huckleberries on the mountain despite it being the end of the season and no grizzlies to compete with. Luckily, I say, because the bears would have won.

There�s something absolutely marvelous about being here. And utter serenity which is so surprising in its completeness and depth but so easy to take for granted. This is a sacred place and a place which I am glad to be at for the changing of the seasons. The moon over the lake the last three nights of the equinox has been stunning. Sunday night I woke at 5:30 in the morning to a brightness on the water that was eerie and beautiful. I haven�t been able to dedicate myself to completing my ritual dedication to the goddess, partly from fatigue (I figure I should be fresh while doing it) and partly from doubt. I have everything prepared, should the moment feel right.

It truly seems like fall here now. The air has a fantastic chill to it and everything seems classic in this mountain cabin. Outside the weather is, and has been �partly cloudy with a slight chance of showers� (via radio) for the last three days. Sometimes, according to Justin (with much laughing and apologies at my expense), it has been �cold as a witch�s tit.� Well, my tits *have* been pretty cold outside. I�ve been glad for the chest strap on my backpack as it makes for a good nipple restraint. Otherwise I might put some poor marmot�s eye out.

We are all enjoying ourselves thoroughly. And to those of you who were invited and passed up the chance, I say simply, �ha.� It�s the end of the season here, yesterday the lodge and the market closed. We have the park to ourselves in absolute quiet and serenity and it�s unbelievably beautiful here. We�re doing and seeing things that defy imagination and loving every moment of it. And we�re like to say well, next year, we�ll be here and you can be too. This is a place to let go. Forget about work. Forget about money. Forget about the past. We�re neutral and open and so is Glacier Park. I'm here with goats and pokemon, way the hell too much food, good wine, good company, HELLA mountains and fires that smell like Christmas.

Don�t you wish you were?

And Finally! Summer Vacation!
Here I am in lovely Helena Montana thinking just how much I love it here. I'll probably spend some time living here after college.

I forgot to mention (rude of me) that I'll be away until the 29th hiking with Murray and Justin in Glacier National Park. I may update irregularly though seeing as I've got a wonderful laptop on hand and a telephone line. And I shall surely post pictures to make you insanely jealous when I get back cause you know... you KNOW I'm having more fun than you are. NYAAH!!!

Over the river and through the woods...

As for my life, we'll just say that things are... going... At this point, I'm really not sure where. The Oregon Voice has officially eaten my soul. So I am now, yes, officially, a soulless demon woman. Whee! Classes should be amusing this fall. Aside from Japanese, I'm taking some philosophy crap, journalism, tai chi and scuba. My last term of three academic classes... to even CONSIDER going abroad (which I'm gonna do next fall instead of this spring), I need to cram the rest of my classes four to a term. Gah. But hopefully a semester in Japan will take care of some of my required coursework... uh, specifically language. I'm still giddy about a busy fall; these last two weeks have proven to me two things... 1) I'm the most organized person I know and 2) I will kill myself if I keep working this hard. And classes haven't even started yet! Yeep!

Looks like I might be stuck living by myself again this fall. Granted, I'll be staying in a 2 bedroom apartment with one half the rent paid by a non-existent Justin but it would still suck. His masters program requires an internship that's usually given through one of five Eugene based companies (or there's one in Bend and one in Woodburn). This year there were three students from the programs interviewing for all the positions and the same woman got every offer and then, one by one, turned them all down. She ended up not even interning with any of the companies (local or not) and setting up her own deal with-get this- L'Oreal Paris.Fucking makeup! I don't really blame her for getting the offers, she was well-spoken, talented, and a good demographic. But after being spurned by the student they wanted, these companies decided to be asses and 'not take interns' for this year. So he's pretty screwed and the only lab still interested in interns has been Bend. One call after another the pouty chemistry companies have decided they'd rather wank off than help support the Masters Polymer Chemistry program which they have agreed to support. So unless something else comes up it's "goodbye Eugene; hello Bend" for Justin and back to a long distance relationship for Kat. Crap.

Transplanted
I went away and it was lovely and full of autumn sun... and I came back to THIS???

Fuck you, Seattle!! And your aquiferous weather!!

*****

Sometimes I think going to the dentist is a bit like being abducted by aliens. You sit in the big chair with the big light and little people with big white masks prodding over you. "Hmm," and "ahh," they say, and proceed to scrape at the sensitive spots in your mouth with small, sharp, metal objects. Then they put the funny-tastings in your mouth and say "looks good" and release you. At least, that's the way it is with me. Sometimes I hear the unlucky victims in the next room over under the implant drill moaning their muffled, anethesized "noooo.... noooo....."


VZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZSSSHHHT!!!

So the mad pre-montana rush has begun. Wrote up a meal plan today, eight days of dinners. Lovely classic dishes including but not limited to:

BREAKFAST
eggs/ toast/ bacon
cereal/ milk
oatmeal/ raisins/ nuts

LUNCH (for hikes or not)
sandwiches w pb/J or lunchmeat/ cheese
granola bars
apples
jerky
trail mix
soup

DINNER
beef stew/ egg noodles
beans and rice
chicken fajitas
tuna noodle casserole
bbq chicken/ potatoes/ corn on the cob
flank steak?
spaghetti w/ veggie or venison sauce/ broccoli
minestrone


Got most of the groceries tonight with the luxury of the albertson's card. Hurrah for free food! So now I've got to pack, shop, get organized and go!! I really ought to get a hold of Alex to find out how his trip home to Helena went, and how the weather is in MT this time of year but knowing him he's as busy as I am. Alas!

In any case, ESP doesn't work to get someone to email you. Instead I will throw up my hands and away to bed, the only place MORE comfortable for this awful, drippy weather.

YEACH.

Stress...
Ugh. So much going on.

I'll be out of town this weekend in Seattle with the family. Back monday night, check for updates then.

Peace.

Happy 9/11 everyone!
Err... wait, I suppose that's not how it works.

Well, if you're looking for snivelly patriotic bullshit, this ain't the place. But I bet you knew that. I'll leave the flags the candles for the major corporation who, in the true American image, are spending volumes of money to pretend they care. Because, of course, the one who pretends they care the MOST (and consequently spends the most money) will get the most money back from the easily suaded sheep of middle america.

Today I made sure to do my part to overthrow the Bush administration. I visited Planned Parenthood, discussed the gnarly details of my unmarried sex life with a woman I don't know (but who was very nice), recieved free! birth control thanks to the government (who is now threatening, of course, to cut the program) and promptly went home and put it to use. Well, no, I didn't, but I could have and that's the POINT, dammit!!

So I didn't set off special fireworks (on the backs of plastic army men) or light a candle for the people who were lost in the tragedy. What I did was more poignant and more true to myself and to america than any of that drivel. I carried on.

Today I looked out the window and it was any other day. It was a blue sky and business as usual. I was not any less cheerful than I was yesterday or will be tomorrow. I was, simply, me. I didn't spend a moment of blissful depressing reflection. In fact, 90% of my day has been spent forgetting what day it is. I had to ask two people for today's date while filling out forms...just like yesterday.

People act like we're not the only country to ever experience a tragedy. Like the attacks in New York were the biggest goddam affront to ever happen to the citizens of the world. Like more people died there than do every week at the hands of ours and other "friendly" governments. Sure, we didn't see it coming like you do in war or whatever our version of "war" is these days. Sure, it pissed us off. But rather than making today about remembering, which I can see as serving as little more than an excuse to cower in our boots, let's make today about moving on. Let's make it a selfless day and a nationless day.

Today I ate vegetarian and cheered for the anti-war rally outside City Hall. Today I snorted with cynicism at the conservatives waving flags with tears in their eyes. For who? For their long-ded grandparents? Far more people have died in the year since 9/11 of equally tragic means on a much smaller scale and we don't spend every day mourning their passing... don't get me wrong, I WILL light a candle and say a prayer before I go to bed and I do pity all the families who lost pieces of themselves to terror. I can't even IMAGINE what it would have been like to be on those planes. I was wrought and destroyed that week just like much of America was. But I'm not any more. I've moved on. I won't forget but I see no point in getting riled up, either. It doesn't make sense to make 9/11 a 'holiday'.

Why does this have to be our excuse to "pull together"? Shouldn't we pull together anyway? And are we any more together than before or is the dichotomy just more strictly US and THEM, PRO-"WAR" and ANTI-"WAR", PATRIOTS and the WHO-GIVES-A-SHITs? We've all grouped ourselves accordingly, nicely labelled and compartmentalized for future use in case of an emergency like life is predictible, like we'll be able to see what comes next or controll it if we're one way or the other. Why does this event have to "define" my generation? It doesn't define me. Who I am has nothing to do with the Al-Quaida or with Bush or with a few large explosions. I didn't lose anyone in this tragedy, and neither did most of America... but somehow most of America has such a low sense of self-security that they seem infinitely more upset and offended than I ever could be. Of couse I was upset, of course I hid under my bedsheets. But not any more and never again.

So I won't tell you where I was when I heard or how I ran around the house yelling in my underwear. (Besides, Katie has a better story about threesomes the morning of the twin towers anyway) I won't tell you what it felt like to watch TV for nine days straight, two channels at once, and the soullessness that crept into my life those days and for the next four months. I won't tell you 'cause you know. But I will tell you that I'm stronger and better. Not cause some shitheads decided to pull a religious stunt, not cause Bush says I should be, but because I chose to be. You won't read my self-declaration, I've already written it, but I will declare this:

I'm not proud to be an American yet, I'm still figuring out what that means. I'm proud to be me. And I'm proud that that means today is a day like every other; one more trip around the sun, one more chance to be my best. I don't need an excuse for that.

This has been your 9-11 rant.

(I sure hope the Bush administration never finds this page. Imma goin to jail!)

in motion
I saw Fall today. It was crouched under a gnarled old tree, a dark brown shape hunched and crouching, formless yet crisp as a shadow. It was prickled and tough, like old oak leaves and bark and watched the rushes rustle around it as we drove by, slowly on the road.

We were on old Marcola road, out past the timber mills and all the houses. Out where a single step put you fifty years back in time, where the liberal and loose lifestyle of the Eugenite becomes the tough, pastoral, conservative lifestyle of a Marcolan... someone whose life is wholesome, in the sense that they trust God to turn the earth, to grow the crops, and to make wrong things right. Churches sprouted on the roadside among grass pastures and surrounding each church were houses, trailers, shanties. Some houses were the classic image of the old farmhouse, swing hanging from the porch, others looked just enough shelter to protect those inside them. I saw a girl who looked so much me at 8 years old that it scared me. She was playing on her front lawn in a nightie. I saw houses with smoke curling from brick chimneys the chase away the coming cold... and beyond them the rolling cliffs and hills, already brown and dry with the creeping autumn light bathing them golden orange.

We did a U-ey about twenty miles out, pulled out the stops and came rubling back into town. The whole while I was thinking, "Go faster, go faster!!" I wanted the wind in my hair and to really hug the road when we turned. But Cole said later that he was afraid of making me nervous. "Cole," I said, "if there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I'm an adrenaline junkie. I like to think there's that small percentage that my life's in danger. I want to ride horses, jump out of airplanes, climb mountains, dive with stingrays. I want to go faster." And I couldn't have been more loose, I was already zonked after a long day... the whole ride was both relaxing and invigorating in a way.

And I'd been on a bike before; not a Harley low-rider like this, a Kawasaki Ninja, some hot-shot's crotch-rocket that put us mostly in the middle of traffic. Though I like the road bikes better, this was a real motorcycle, something that the roadsters respect. I've always wanted a bike. It's been a secret desire of mine for years now. And I think I could learn to ride one. That, and I look good in leather. (notice I'm wearing my leather faire boots and gloves, though... the jumpsuit was too short in the arms and legs ^^)

There's something about seeing the world from a bike that gives it a sort of ethereal quality. On the Harley it's like watching a motion picture of your life, like seeing things from the outside but not in the same way as being in a car. It's like watching a motion picture but being part of it. On the ninja, it's about loving the road. The world is just a little farther away, the pavement just a little more real, the dirt a little closer.

I've said it before- I'm most free in transition, like while I'm travelling. Being on a bike gives that freedoma new introspection. Someone give me some leather, a greasy wrench, and a working machine. I'm ready.

Lost and Found
Today I found something and I lost something.

What I found was an unrehearsed sense of hilarity, relaxation, pride, and playfulness. The day just seemed to carry itself. I was involved, helpful, courteous, busy, clearminded, joyful, and friendly. I did my job, worked out things with the OV... never once found myself hungry or crashing from low blood sugar. When I came home I made dinner, let Justin play games on my computer without being frustrated and laughed and played with him for a while. For that short time, my sense of adventure and enthusiasm returned and we just enjoyed each other. Sometimes it's nice to spend a night apart. I deserved that sundae.

I guess I didn't really "lose' anything in an official sense. It was just the announcement of change, of a drawing apart. Murray's decided to leave Eugene sometime this year and enroll in a Portland university... either Lewis and Clark or the art institute. I'm glad he's got balls enough to pursue his dreams, especially in light of losing his friends... but the announcement was still a bombshell. I really love Murray and I guess I just met him not too long ago. I don't want someone with whom I feel so comfortable to leave my life. It doesn't feel right, not so soon after I started making my first friends here. Murray really means a lot to me, mostly because we connect in some way that's not really profound but IS because it's so comfortable and casual. That, and I'm not sure how we started being friends which, in a way, is better than being able to mark the way and day. We just sort of drew together. He was always around and then suddenly it was like "oh hi, you're cool" and it just was good. That's the way it should be. The sinking feeling that is the LOSS is that somewhere inside me I believe that when he goes, despite only being in Portland, somehow we'll fall apart anyway, in ways that shouldn't be. But we'll have glacier in common by then... and magic places do magic things that don't go away. So I'm hopeful, but melancholy. That's why I needed a big, fat euphoria chocolate sundae.

But things change and do so constantly. We'll all be different people in five years with different bodies and different brains, older and wiser souls. I read through most of my archives last night and I'm surprised at how much my own perspective has changed over the last nine months... how much I've grown and matured, how many things I've come to accept and how many I've learned to deal with a hard hand. I feel accomplished.

I'm tired as hell and it's good. Time to curl up with Rupert and Wolf Pup and smell the trees from outside.

WRATH
AHAHHAHAHAH!!!! WAAAAHAHAHAH!! KILL! KILL KILL!!!

Cool.

Check out this fun game I stole from Emily. ; )

self-sufficient me
Sometimes I'm surprised by my ability to survice on my own. I'm even more pleased when I sit back (or collapse into bed) at the end of a day having done everything I meant to do. By everything I mean my list of dailies, from the two to twenty things I carried in my head when I got up, and declared, "Today!"

Right now I'm kicking back and enjoying some "secret single behavior." Justin has gone down to Bend for the night to interview with a chem co. there tomorrow morning. I'm lazily sipping tea and contemplating some .mpgs... porn or classic movies. Ahh. This morning we went out to breakfast at Keystone with Rachel, Micah and two of their guy friends- a delightful and Eugenian experience. After, Justin and I drove up Skinner's Butte and looked at the city.

"This is a good place," I thought. "I could stay here for a while."

And again the circle is turning. I know I felt this same fulfilled existence last year and the year before. Something about the end of summer brings hope for the coming seasons. This is truly my New Years celebration. I fill my life with the fruits of the past year and surround myself with luxury and colors to get me though the coming winter. For winter will come and in a few months I'll be asking myself where my happiness has gone.

I already feel the rising madness... first the wild lust of the harvest, the mad hunt of the God and the Goddess. And then the barren darkness as I huddle in the womb to wait for my release from the chrysalis in spring. God, I love fall. It's everything. I never feel this waya about summer, spring, or winter....

I can smell it in the evening air, the turning of the leaves, fresh cider and u-pick apples... pumpkins and bonfires and hay. It makes me mad with pleasure!

This month on Mabon, the fall equinox (sept 21st), I will annoint myself as a follower of the way of the Old Gods. Underneath the full moon, in the heart of the Rocky Mountains I'll bathe myself, skyclad, in an icy-cold lake and ask for the Goddess's blessing. May she guide me my whole life over.

two poems (of very different natures)
I picked up the second of two poetry compilations I've written, this one unfinished, and paged through it last night. I found some very old, very classic, bad poems and a few things that made me think, "Not bad..." It's a shame the most recent thing I've really written was Spring term Freshman year. Though taking that Poetry class did milk some good work out of me. I can feel the season of poetry approaching, when things go awry for strange reasons and only verse can make sense of them. Here's a few from the last couple years to get me started:

I thought of
a poem
just now,
inside of you.
words that
breathe and
build and
break and
spin
away,
alone,
alive.
greater than the
flesh and
blood of
you and I
greater than the
immortal muse.
but
one little
kiss and...
oops!
__there
____it
_____goes.

**That's just one I wrote for class about how easy it is to think of something striking and poetic, to have it in your head in perfect form for one instant and then find that it's slipped away while you weren't looking.


Being here or 306
Waking at 4:30 to hear your breathing
I am not alone here,
this cubbyhole skinks of girl
and CK one.
I hate that shit.
Did I mention how many times
I thought I'd rather die than be stuck
here, living with you?
I won't know you, like the others,
long enough to make you mine.
Your stuff is just stuff,
but it's in my way,
your sickly scent in my territory.
You sleep from two to seven,
so I can't even dream.
You dress to hide yourself from me,
but I see. I see the small breasts
they taught you to hide.
I see your fear.
You call it anger, blame me for this
dorm room disfunction.
Well, fuck you too.
Someday I'll have something to call my own
Someplace to play my songs and
sleep naked with the windows open
with no one to force me to make amends.
But for now,
I live witth snoring and conflict
and compromise my space.
I suffer to bear waking at 4:30
to hear your breathing
and find it, only this time,
comforting.

**That one's about my third roomate in the dorms, Yasumi. A Japanese exchange student who'd never roomed with anyone before, she was a bit of an anal-retentive bitch and, not to mention, an unaskedfor surprise. Needless to say, we were tooth and claw until I got rid of her a few weeks into spring term. Stupid dorms. Never again.

Pro-ana in the NY Times
The New York Times Magazine did a piece on'pro-anorexic' webpages. The damn NY TIMES beat me to the punch! Oh well, at least it proves this is an 'up-and-coming' issue. Too bad their article pretty much stinks. It's a good survey of a experiences and webpages... but it's mostly fluff. It's a shame that it's probably what people want to read. I basically think the author says a lot without saying anything and it could be a lot stronger if there were some backbone to it: facts, opinions, anything. Probably the author just wasn't experienced in the web communities, it sure sounds like she wasn't. (Though she interviewed Futurebird, the webmistress I was going to interview!!!)

Some of the article's weakness just lies in bad journalism... which both pisses me off and gives me hope for MY future career. This woman submits to NY Times AND Rolling Stone, for chrissakes, she should know how to WRITE!

My article will shame her.

perfection.
As Justin's father said of Eugene, "well, kiddo, it has everything you need."

Sometimes, I look at this place and I think, "it is good."

I think I could spend some time here. Me, my life, my work, my studies, my friends, my lovers. We could all spend some time here. It's be sweet stasis. Until, of course, I decied to wrench it all apart... but we leave that discussion for when the mood strikes.

Life is good. Sweetness is peaches and raspberry with vanilla yogurt. Friends every day and movies every night. Barbecues and fresh produce. Writing and imagining and sleeping and sunlight. Sweat, minus the blood and tears. Smiles.

I am one of the millions who lives a life out of middle america, except slightly more liberal and new age and with a bit more intellectual thought. We are happy, we decide to love each other and relish what boredom and what drama we are given.

Sometimes, though, we stop to wonder. What if we had been one of the few (the proud?) to live or die in glory, as vain as glory can be. And we question what it takes to be pulled into the spotlight and own, for as brief as the brightness may be, something dazzling. We can't fathom what that would be like.

But we realize, always and eventually, with comforting certainty that what we have is good enough and we will be great (and small) in our own ways. We will be kind, nurturing, hard, strong, beautiful, and special as we have been made. For our life is ours to hold and to mold, wherever we may be.

And that, my friends, is perfection.

Zombie Cat: REDUX
A Eulogy for Robert Pawson
He was sitting there just staring at me as I looked up from rifling through my bag. He was a little lopsided and a little dirty, the way day-old stray cats are. He looks friendly, I though. So, in a soft voice I call to him. He doesn't move.

When I pull forward, pedaling my bike up the path with my feet, he stands up, not in the fluid way that cats do but arthritically, as if his bones were creaking with effort. I put down the kickstand and reach my hand out in greeting, how cats seem to like it.

He was just a little grey and white thing that had seen better days. And he was crooked. The tip of his tongue stuck out of his mouth, pink against the white of his muzzle, one of his yellow eyes was brown-gold with cataract blindness, and the tip of his tail was bent.

"What a funny little thing you are," I say, and beckoning him. But he doesn't move to be petted. Instead, he sits there and looks at me, tongue lolled out and head slightly to one side.

"Strange cat," I say to a passerby. But strange things are always happening along this strip of path. Like the time I biked through to find a barricade beneath a swarm of honeybees, or the time I stopped to smell the flowers and found they'd all been replaced with fakes. People come here to sit by the river and smoke, look at the moon from the pavilion, watch the fires from the kiln raze the sky.

"He just need some love," replies the pedestrian, stooping to pet the cat.

He looks dead, I think. And that's when the deja vu hits me.

Driving down 126 the day before, we passed a housecat on the side of the road, legs asunder, stiffening from the impact of his accident in the light of the midday sun. We passed right by and I cried out, in the way that I do for pets that have been run down, with a sadness and respect that I don't give to possums, raccoons, and rats.

"A kittyyyyyyy!" I wailed, in a five-year-old's voice. "A dead kitty!!!" More whimpering.

"Where?" Said Justin, who was driving.

"Back there! Someone's kitty and it was dead!!" I was now working myself up, thorougly distraught. "Someone's housecat on the road, a little grey one with white paws!" Oh, how I could bemoan the fate of a cat like nothing else. "Now he's dead and no one will know," I said sadly.

With mind for a tribute to the cat, I added, a-la-Fight Club, "His name was Robert Pawson... his name was Robert Pawson." I couldn't get Justin to chant with me so I shut up, but was still sad. We sped on, easily five miles away from the little cat body at the side of the road.

Late that night, when it was dark and clear, we came back on the same road. Thirty or so miles from home, I remembered the dead cat and said to Justin how sad I was that the poor thing had met its demise in this place. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, we passed the body and I cried out again.

The poor cat laid in exactly the same way, kicking its feet toward the road, looking as if it hadn't been bruised and crushed by a two-ton vehicle earlier that day. I wondered aloud who had taken the time to move it to the side of the road or if it had just taken itself there to die.

Will its people ever find it? Did anyone say goodbye? How would I feel if Rupert never came home one day?

I stop my bemoaning when Justin asks me, seconds later, if he should stop the car so I can give the cat last rites. "But..." I stammer. He's sincere, shockingly. He knows I'm upset and that it's something I would do. For a moment I consider it. I consider putting myself in the place of Priestess, working the amature spiritualist magik I know I possess. But the I realize that I shouldn't interefere with the way of roadside nature, that I don't have to put my mood on the line for someone's cat, one of many- and especially that taking a look at my fursome friend up close will only serve to aggrivate me further.

We drive home.

So I stand, the next morning, on the bike path through my University's contemporary art department, near the ceramics gallery and Urban Farm looking at the same cat. I realize, with creeping certainty, that the cat does not just look dead, it is dead. Its stiffness is not arthritis, it is the aching, bone creaking numbness of rigor mortis. Its eye is dead and its tongue is dry. It smells of slightly stale fish.

And it simply came to say hello.

It isn't mad at me for not releasing it (which I do, silently crossing myself and letting go the cat), it isn't evil or hungry for my mortal soul. It just is. Staring at me. Still.

Why is a dead cat looking at me? How did it walk thirty-five miles in one night to come to sit in the middle of the campus art department?

These things I don't question. I put out my hand, pet the cat, and poke its tongue back into its mouth. The little dry tip stays put for a second and then lolls back out again, a cute but somewhat grotesque smile.

"See ya, pal," I say to the grey cat, and mount my bike.

"Blork," says the cat.

I pedal on, late for wherever I'm going, as usual. I don't look back because I know when I do, the cat will be gone- off to eat mouse brains or whatever it is that Zombie cats do.

It's just another one of those things; just another day.

His name was Robert Pawson.

Clouds
Whoo. I think the fact that I've been so busy yet still accomplishing nothing is starting to catch up with me. I'm too tired to think, certainly too tired to move. I think I need to cut back on super-uber-workout, it really has me exhausted.

When I was weightlifting at the gym today, my exhaustion hit me in a great big wave. Suddenly, I didn't want to do another set, another excercize... I didn't even want to go back to the locker room and change. I just wanted to lay down and relax. But I upped and went and got my things, stopping to look at my face in the mirror and realizing that I looked Mostly Dead. So, in zombie-state I biked home. The odd thing was that all these people smiled at me; not sympathetic smiles or gratuitous smiles, but friendly greeting smiles. I hardly ever get those, even when I'm happy myself. But I biked by cars and pedestrians and three girl bikers who all looked at me like I was a friend.

And though I was tired, I thought, "I am one of everyone" and for a moment identified with every person no matter how shallow, deep, needy, or spoilt. For that moment I was glad of the fellowship of man and of every living, breathing thing.

When I rounded the bend, this amazing pink cloud structure was towering above me, a big thunderhead like they so rarely have here (they're the only mountains we get in Michigan, however), and I was aghast at the beauty of it all.

Needless to say, I came home and Justin was still using the Mac to play escape velocity- yay, I've given him another way to waste his days not doing anything- so I sat in the living room and was ignored for an hour or so until he got hungry and came out. I know he was seeking food, not company. "So I can use my computer now?" I said. "You could have used it any time," he said, benevolently. Pah. Riiiiight.

Sometimes I think we see both too much and too little of each other. I wake up in the morning and it's bliss to be there with him. I'm hesitant to leave but I do, and I stay away for most of the day. By the end of the day, the positive energy that I have to create, to clean, to cuddle in the morning is all gone and I'm just nerves and stress and I can't relax. So we spend a few hours staring at something (computers, TV, the wall) head to bed and start the cycle all over. It really is a shame because I just feel so POSITIVE at the beginning of the day and I'm not sure how to retain that. I promise myself that we'll be able to enjoy each other when I get home, that I'll be able to "remember" my affection or horniness from noon... but it doesn't happen.

Instead, I find crumbs on my desk that make me sniffle and a hypoglycemic Justin who stops gaming for food and then puts on a loud movie. I know, as Arnold would say, STOP WHINING! Ok, that's my rant.

But really, he is a doll... he did such a CLASSIC guy thing today. So we're making Bear Creek soup, the "Damn Good Chili" mix, which calls for... soup mix, water, and tomato paste. Guess what we're out of? So, grumbling, Justin goes off to Albertsons to get tomato paste which is OK cause I know he wants ground beef (GAG) for the chili anyways. I give him a list of about 5 other things (milk, dish soap, fruit) ok... 3 other things.... which he writes down and takes with him. So I go to chop some veggies for the chili and notice that no, in fact, he has not taken his list with him. I grunt and think something along the lines of, "how classic." But I don't really care cause we can make due with what's on hand till the morning. He comes back and I've started the water boiling, I feel better to see he has groceries. There's the milk, the fruit, the dish soap... whoa, even remembered ground beef (GAG)... buuuuuut... What did he forget but the tomato paste? Now that's classic. I had to laugh, which was bad because it put hypoglycemic boyfriend in a foul mood. Lucky I can drive his car now and Ryan had some T.P for the damn good chili. Which, by the way, was damn good but didn't help make me any less tired.

This weekend I've got to write a mock-up for the "pro-anorexia" piece for the voice, eat sushi at the new sushi place (o what a chore, I know ; ), write up the new sushi place, perhaps accompany J to Bend (Buttfuck Nowhere, OR) for a chem interview and numerous other things. Back to the daily grind. All that aside, I am truly grateful for all the time we've been able to spend with friends lately. I've really come to appreciate the Micro crowd and I'm glad to help with TPLe. I'm especially happy to have friends who are couples now: Ryan and Tara, Sara and Brad, Micah and Rachel. What cracks me up is how I can see the resemblance between each of the two peole in these pairs. I can't really describe it (especially for J and I) but each couple has a strong "signature" that they give off... like striking similarities between both partners. It's really cute.

Last night, J and I went to see Possesion (Gwennyth Paltrow and cute butt-chin guy) with Sara and Brad. The movie was basically a snore. Pleasant but uninspiring, complete with one adult and one utterly juvenile romance. Of course, the modern romance was the entirely juvenile one... and the cute butt-chin guy was little more than a golden retriever in a human's body. (READ: love me, I'm friendly, I won't hurt you ever!! Now look away while I shed on your furniture, hump your leg, pee on your carpet and run away! Oh, don't yell at me! I'm wounded and cute! Waah! You never loved me! I'm not worth loving! Oh, a treat? OK!! BEST FRIEND!!! Pssh... men.)

Ach, so. Thusly is my life. And still, this journal struggles for content. It's basically been a diary as of late. This really is how I write when I'm not depressed. Socially and shallowly with a hint of witty cynicism. I don't feel too thoughtful and it's mostly pleasant. Though sometimes I do feel a touch vapid but I think the fact that I can recognize that disqualifies me from any harm that might come of it. (Whee! Old Navy opens in 5 days and it's right near my house! Hello fall shopping!!) But, all things considered, I am ready to get down to business- wrote up an advertiser solicitation package for the Voice today- and for my last adventure (hello, Glacier!).

I feel as if I should aspire to be provoking. Perhaps to choose a word or idea and write upon it daily. The Noun of the Day, for example. Or force myself to practice brief works of poetry and fiction. This excersize, of course, being beneficial for both me as a writer and for you, my poor bored and boring readers. But why, alas, should I bother? Someone else can do that for me.

Such is the life of an internet junkie. Convenience a la mode.

Rawk On
Earlier I started wishing I were an art student. I thought, "maybe then I'd have an excuse to be creative." I guess you really don't need an excuse if you're going to be creative. That's why people paint and make zines and perform on their own; because they CAN. I want to draw and paint and write like crazy... I just never get around to it. Sometimes I wonder if I actually have any talent, that's why I was looking forward to NaNoWriMo this November, as a chance to wake up my brain and just write for the hell of it. I guess I can write for the hell of it any time I want, though... and probably should. November's just another excuse. It seems like I probably won't be doing NaNoWriMo after all, the schedule this fall is just too intense. And I want to mentor a little middle school girl in how to be 1337. That, along with Publishing the OV may just be way the hell too much on my plate. I'm not ready to give up the mentorship thing either, just because it sounds so damn cool.

But being Publisher for the OV means a lot more than administrative responsibilities and getting a phat check... it means picking up the pieces, wiping other people's noses and getting slackers' shit together. I have to administer accounts, take care of advertising, work with the printing press, ride people about their stories, edit other people's work and write big ass stories myself - sometimes to cover the holes when other people flake out. That's a damn big job. But it's also something more to tell people I do with my life when I tell them about myself. I know what people think about bubbly blonde-types who are social, work out, and say "I'm a journalism major!" They think: "dumb sorostitute." So I like perpetuating the image sometimes just for shits and giggles, but I also like saying "oh, and I do X and X and work in tech and I'm the publisher of a frikkin college magazine..." Don't get me wrong, I DO like doing this stuff. It is my life. But I LOVE watching their jaws drop. So sue me for being a flaky journalism major, I know you don't need the degree to write well. It's just... what else would I do?

I'm such a chronic overachiever.

In other news, Frederick- aka Computey- (my Slot-A athlon 500 machine) is officially dead. I fried the fsking board. Luckily, one of my Micro friends is an RMA god so he contacted ASUS (seems to be on a first-name basis with their RMA girl ; ) and got me a product number to send back to them. Means I get to mail them my old K7M motherboard and they'll send me a new one. Hopefully with a GOOD bios this time. I really think this was an ongoing problem and this bios has been corrupt from day one. Stupid computers.

The good thing is, it means I have an excuse to take home my bondi G4 from work. I don't use it much there. As frustrating as it will be, I really need to get more practice with OS X and all the features. Hopefully it'll take to DSL- cause that's my frikkin lifeline. I've got to put my mind to it and get that computer (named Arachnae) up and running, possibly put Jaguar (OS 10.2) on it by sometime this weekend. Sweeeeet. I still hate the new mac ad campaign though. They get props for Ellen Feiss anyway.

I need a computer to get started writing on some Voicey goodness. I think I'll be stressing soon, taking on a lot this first issue. Reviewing the new sushi place, researching for a feature on local wineries, possibly writing a feature on the internet "pro-anorexia" movement, and all the administrative shit. Advertising is such a chore. It really sucks to have to pander to businesses: "hello, I'm from the Oregon Voice, a campus magazine... would you like to-" "NO!" *SLAM* "uhhh...." It makes me so ashamed. But at least our budget is bigger this year so ads really aren't a huge priority. Not to mention we're going back to 8 1/2 by 11 (ugh) format so we have less space to fill. And I'm sure I can get three or four to get us going.

I loooooove fall! I can't wait for everything to get moving! The momentum is picking up and soon it will be the 20th and Justin, Murray and I will be going to Glacier for a fabulous 9 days of hiking, partying and relaxing. It's really a shame more people couldn't come with. I need to post some of the digiphotos from the last 2 years' trips so y'all can see what you're missing. Phools. It really is the trip of a lifetime!!!

But for now, I'm happy to kick back and enjoy the last three weeks of summer vacation in Eugene. It's been a blast hanging out with all the friends from work and from the HC. Night before last J and I made an appearance at Cory's b-day party and said hi to some old friends. Katie was there and I really missed her terribly while she was gone. But yes, our appearance was only brief and we went over to Sarah/ Brad's place to watch part of Amelie.

Last night we all had a huge barbecue with MOUNDS of food... chips, veggies, ribs, corn, veggie burgers, sausage, burger-burgers, beer, margaritas (as always) and key-lime pah. Extreme hilarity ensued, especially with the sausages.... which led to several of us engaging in a contest to see who could best deep throat a banana. Ehrm. Which... ahem... I won. But more on that later. With pictures. In any case, it was a great night which led to me thinking several times, "this is the life." We all watched Coyote Ugly and raced over to Ryan's (for his cable) to watch South Park (which turned out to be a rerun anyway) and finish the movie. Ended up watching some Comedy central show called "Trigger Happy" which is some British hidden-camera show where random people dress up and do really odd things to put people off. I WANT THAT TO BE MY JOB!!! It's so thrilling to be so spastic and have people look at you strangely. Muaahahaha....

Tonight I'm going to cook for Justin (beans and rice). I feel guilty because he's been cooking so often lately. I just haven't had the time or the energy. But it's been getting cooler and aside from being exhausted by super-uber-workout (35 min EFX, 10 treadmill, 10 climber, 5 Erg) I feel my energy levels and metabolism rising. I love fall.

Zombie cats and Explosions
my weekend in so many words...
Ah, Sunday... for the first time in several months I slept on my own and woke up LATE. Well, late for me, which was 11AM, and stayed in bed frolicking for another hour or so. Sunday was a day with few plans. I actually started the day rather grumpy, being that it meant I had to decide whether I was going to start another pack of Ortho Cyclen (which I decided to do) and then discovering that the only pack I had left was the one with the first three pills taken from right before I started the Archdemon Depo. So I was peeved, rather. Cause not starting meant risking mood swings, ugliness, water retention problems and most unsavory of all- an UVER-nasty period while in Glacier. Kind of hinders mountain-climbing. But I wasn't too keen on starting a Sunday pack on the day marked "Wednesday." But since all the pills have the same nor-estro-whatchemahoozit doseage, I figured that there at least has to be some way for me to get another pack in the next eighteen days before I'm three short. Sunday was not the day though, both Student Health and Planned Parenthood were closed. So, needless to say, I was a bit grumpy and frustrated.

Justin and I finally got out of bed and after a bit of mucking around, decided that Sunday would be a good day to climb up Spencer's butt... err... Butte... Spencer's Butte, for those of you unfamiliar with the Eugene area, is a scenic little knoll about 15 minutes south of Eugene that reaches Upppp up up up into the sky and has numerous ways of getting to the top of varying degrees of exertion. Now, we get there and I discover that it's very hot. And I can't find my hairholder. Note, I'm already grumpy and this only serves to piss me off more. It is not a good day for a hike. But I eventually find a ribbon for my hair in the car and Justin ties it up.

We decide to take a runoff path straight up the butte. It is hot. Soon, I'm sweating rivers, pushing on in that headstrong way we do when hiking because we know we're just training for Glacier. This is a hill, I tell myself, it's a fucking hill. Hill or not, the stupid runoff path is worn almost to the rock by water and foot traffic and even my hi-grade hiking boots sometimes can't keep traction on the incline in the fine dust. I stop for water a few times and forbid Justin from having any. I don't want to kill him but I know he can go without because he never brings his own. And I won't sacrifice mine. It only takes half an hour to get to the top. We rest, basking in the sun on the summit. Justin mocks a group of Japanese parents and exchange students who come panting to the top. I eavesdrop with what limited language skills I have and notice that they talk a lot about landmarks and taking pictures. Once the guide (a white UO student) mentions us. I'm still unsure why.

While we're resting, a comrade from the dorms, alias "Big Gay Matt" comes to the top with his girlfriend and another guy. We greet them but, for some reason, none of them are very social or friendly. We lie in the sun for over an hour, taking our time and eating lunch. Eventually, Matt and co. head back down the main trail. We follow about five minutes behind and notice we've taken the wrong path when it begins cutting STRAIGHT down the rock. We're stuck on another switchback cut-through/ runoff slough but before I can cuss out Justin, who's been up here before, we find a way through to the main trail and stroll leisurely down the butte. We see Matt at a fork in the path, looking for the rest of his party. We also see a girl jogging up the path who we swear we saw miles away from the trailhead jogging up the ROAD. The way down is a much steadier grade and it takes us at least twice as long, hiking merrily, to get to the car as it did to get to the top. I feel much better. On the way home we stop at albertsons for ice cream, popsicles and Copper River salmon.

Later that evening, I decide to work on my computer which has been acting screwy lately... not posting regularly and things like that. It's time for an upgrade anyway and since I've pulled all the important data off of it I figure, what the hell, I'll flash the BIOS because it's obviously having problems. So I get the appropriate flash utility and upgrade, shove it on a boot floppy and flash away. A few minutes later I end up with a computer that does not post AT ALL. Funny, that. Fsking BIOS upgrades... I hate computers. So now I'm pissed again. My computer is fried and I haven't the money to buy new hardware. I suppose I should though, it's about time. Ryan tells me that ASUS will RMA my board though, even if it's 2 years old. Sigh.

I'm mad. So I decide to clean. I pick up my shit in the bedroom. I pick up my shit in the computer room. I clean the fridge... I take every item out, wipe off the shelves, hose down the drawers, scrub the dirt out of the cracks, and sterilize the whole motherfucker. I wipe everything off and put it back in. I forget to turn the fridge back on. Justin is not happy when he finds out the next day that I melted his ice cream and popsicles. Luckily, everything else is find because the fridge and freezer stayed cool all night.

Monday morning I wake up before ten, stay in bed until eleven, and lay naked on the living room floor listening to music for another two hours. We decide to go to Florence to play on the beach and watch the sun set. We leave around two.

As we drive out 126, I nap until Justin comes to a screeching halt. "What the fuck?" he says. I look around, blearily. All traffic in front of us (not much at this point) has come to a stop in front of the tunnel before Mapleton. Black smoke is coming from the tunnel and a single Lane County fire vehicle has blocked off access to the tunnel. People are coming out of their cars and peering into the smoke to see what happened. Judging from the number of parked cars and the hastily thrown-together blockade, we guess that this happened less than ten minutes ago. We are right. A woman standing by tells us that she heard at least eight tires popping and two large explosions. At the other end of the tunnel we hear sirens and fire trucks. As the smoke begins to clear, EMS, Fire, and Forestry vehicles pile against our end of the tunnel but none enter. The accident, they tell us, is on the other end of the tunnel. Another woman claims that as the smoke started pouring out of the tunnel and other cautious drivers stopped, one SUV barrelled out from behind the crowd and blew into the underpass and didn't come back. After the smoke has cleared, we hear on the radios that all EMS vehicles are heading back to florence and the wait from Florence to the tunnel is now more than 45 minutes. So, like everyone else, we abandon hope of them opening the tunnel without running integrity tests on its structure, and we head back toward Eugene. But we're not about to give up on sunset at the beach despite the voice in our heads saying, "Go back! You're doomed! You're all doomed! DOOMED!!!" So almost into Veneta, we hit Poodle Creek Road and take it over to Triangle lake which puts us on 36, a straight route into Mapleton the other way.

Highway thirtysix is hell. Imagine 126 with more turns and no shoulders plus the added stress of a constant stream of traffic coming out of Florence around the blockade. We didn't get to Florence until 5:00 and Justin had to get ice cream to calm his nerves. Irony upon ironies, as soon as we hit the beach a front literally rolled in (we could see it boiling over the ocean) and blanketed the whole area in thick fog and rain. I hate Oregon. We hiked down the hobbit trail and read on the beach. After a while I decided I'd had enough sitting for one day and we took the hobbit trail back up to the Heceta Head trail junction and hiked a couple miles to the lighthouse and back. The whole trail was shrouded in mist, a cooling, soothing fog that made it easy to hike and hard to see.

Though we didn't get a sunset, the mystery of walking through the coastal forest shrouded in clouds was almost as profound. When we got back to the car it was getting dark and we were cold and starving. Mo's in Florence Old Town serves a mean bowl of Chowder (with extra butter... bleh).

We drove back in the dark, counting the stars because, of course, anywhere more than a mile from the water still had clear sky. When we got to the now open tunnel we realized just what a huge detour we'd taken and how stupid it was to do all that extra driving. On the way back we passed a dead housecat on the side of the road, a poor disheveled grey kitty with white paws that I'd seen on the way out to Poodle Creek earlier. I named the cat "Robert Pawsnon" and bemoaned his fate so loudly that Justin asked me if I wanted to stop and give him his last rites. I declined, knowing that stopping to look at someone's poor dead cat would only make me depressed.

Maybe I should have stopped and taken a moment to bless the poor thing because I swear to god it followed me home. This morning on the way to school, I stopped to make sure I had everything in my bag and when I looked up there was an arthritic grey and white cat looking at me. His tongue stuck out of his mouth and one of his eyes was dark and unseeing. He was sweet but most certainly a zombie. I made sure to greet him and then left him to go his way and eat brains or whatever zombie cats do.

I hope he doesn't know where I live.