wawawawawawawawawing on water
I�m going to leave that title, if just because it�s EXACTLY what this computer input for me typing �walking on water� while it was still trying to boot. I�ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to get this damn machine to stop crashing on me and my eyes are almost bleeding from watching the �Windows 99�(<- yes, I actually wrote that without noticing the year was wrong) splash screen come up OVER and OVER again. I don�t care if they got a new monitor. I still HATE this computer. I can�t run anything; the Java script for ICQ lite even crashes it. Thank god I wasn�t more than a sentence into this entry. Oh, and that�s another thing. The new keyboard they have SUCKS. Something wrong with the layout that makes typos inevitable. Oh, and it�s USB� makes it useless for getting out of scandisk or trying to cancel entry into safe mode. ARRRRGH. Fuck you, you piece of prehistoric garbage! Someday I�ll go Office Space on yo� ass and you�ll be sorry those retards over at Hewlett Packard ever made you!!!!!!11111 *saves document*

Ahem�. And now back to your regularly scheduled entry.

walking on water
Today was a strange day of half-reflection. The family decided to go on an outing to Whidbey Island, a place I haven�t been for several years. As usual, it took us all of a good two or two-and-a-half hours to get going.

We drove in the gloom and the rain up 405 toward Mukilteo. For some reason, this drive holds a sense of startling and eerie clarity for me. I�ve only made it twice or maybe three times; maybe a few more. But it was one of the few trips I made up the freeway right after I moved here, on an outing that seemed so emotionally important to me that I �landmarked� every single feature of the highway to remember the trip. And I still remember every stupid detail of that road, down to the turn you take to get to the Bivins� house. I think I only made that particular drive once; I don�t even know if they still live there. For some reason the particular significance that my brain gave to Mukilteo over three years ago has stayed with it ever since. Even hearing the name of the town makes me feel weird. It�s like listening to a song on the radio that meant a lot to you in middle school and being taken right back. In a way, that�s what all of being at home here feels like, in a weird and uncomfortable way. But Mukilteo. What a trip.

We went through Mukilteo to get to the Whidbey ferry. I was looking out the window and feeling mellow. There was the Burger King. There was the gas station. There was the furry in a tiger suit waving at me. Um, what? Double-take. Oh, OK. The poor fool getting his fur wet in the rain is getting paid to advertise for Exxon� Makes more sense now. Thought I�d really entered the twilight zone for a second. Where is my mind these days?

We eat Ivars on the ferry; the first Ivars and the first ferry ride I�ve had since Justin and I made those trips up to Orcas two summers ago. It makes me miss the ocean and miss ferry rides most of all. I�m too hungry to stand on the deck�eating chowder in the wind isn�t practical�so I miss all but the last two minutes of the short ride. It�s been too long since I�ve stood on the deck of one of those boats and let the wind tangle my hair into a big golden knot. I dunno though, I have mixed feelings about the ferries. So many memories on those big boats. I�m never sure whether being on them makes me feel glee, loneliness, or more of a mournful introspection. I think it�s mostly the last one, which is sort of a masochistic combination of the two feelings.

At least what�s nice about Whidbey Island is that it�s in what�s called the �rain shadow.� Meaning, you�re only likely to be rained on about 70% of the time it�s shitty in Seattle. Today we lucked out. As we pulled up to the first state park beach, the sun was just coming out. It was still cold as hell and windy, but a nice day for a walk. Being near the ocean always makes me feel philosophical but being near my family makes me feel quite the opposite. So I sort of just picked my way along the beach until Allie started talking to me about my life and my relationship and I sort of opened up. The whole time I was on the beach, though, I had a weird feeling that I had been there before. Or somewhere like it. And I was recalling a particular conversation on a particular trail but couldn�t quite place where it was.

We left the beach after an hour or so and drove to another one. Before we got out of the car, my parents suggested that maybe I�d been there before, a while ago. I told them I couldn�t remember without seeing the beach, but I knew I�d know as soon as I got out along the water. Funny thing was, this was the beach I�d been having deja-vu about only half an hour ago. And I had been there, once, over three years ago. But not to walk, just to sit on the piles of driftwood and feel mournfully reflective, as I often felt back then. Funny thing was, two nights ago, I�d picked through pictures of this beach while sorting out my photographs from the last ten or so years. And I don�t remember much from that day except the logs, and some kind-of-faded conversation about identifications with elements. At least, I think it was that day and that beach. I could be wrong.

Sometimes, this is why I hate coming home. Because it�s so easy for my brain to get tied in knots over memories that I�m not sure are real or not. For me, memory is an evocation of emotion, like scent or song, that ties me up in it. And this place is not a place of comfortable memory. It�s a place of intensity and alienation. And I�m never quite sure whether I love or I hate the emotive associations with it but they own me. Every cell.

Deeper into the state park where the Memory beach was located, there was a military bunker and gun battery. The parents swore to me we�d never been there before, but I know we have. I remember the plains below the bunker that stretch to the sea cliffs. And I remember climbing down the roped-off ladder into the hidden lookout station below. I don�t even know when I came there, but it was a good place to remember. And it was/ is insanely beautiful. The sun was just starting to set while we were there and that sort of amber twilight was just bathing the sea cliffs in iridescence. The sisters and I spent a good twenty minutes exploring the pitch-black caverns of the bunkers with a flashlight, probing into the empty rooms and making loud noises to scare out the ghosts and amorous couples. It was worth a couple of good laughs when we found a makeshift cross in one of the darker doorways; two twigs held together with a bit of leather twine. I held it in one hand in front of me and the flashlight in the other, X-files style. I forgot I was carrying the cross after a while and must have looked like an idiot to the couple I came across while detouring onto a hiking trail. I think I waved it at them. On the way back to the car, I remembered I was carrying the cross and went to return it to the caverns for someone else to find. It was worth even more laughs when I realized that my sisters were in the bunker at the same time as me and hid behind a steel door to jump out at them in the pitch black as they came around a corner. Liz almost peed herself. Then I walked into my dad in the dark and almost did the same.

We took the �long� route home, over Deception Pass and into Anacortes. Stopped at the bridge just in time for sunset and walked out onto the thin walkway to look at the deep channel below. It was really cold over the water. For a moment I entertained the thought that if I ever decided to kill myself, Deception Pass would be the place to do it. It�s a morbidly beautiful place, ramped on either side by huge cliffs, treacherously high over a channel with a dangerous current. An incredible view. Practically no railing. Over a hundred feet of free-fall into the ocean. Perfect for the final moments before a dramatic suicide.

It was almost night. We passed through Anacortes and stopped at a Greek restaurant on main street, someplace I swear I may have been before (if it were ever an Italian restaurant in the past) but can�t seem to confirm. What is it with me and deja-vu this weekend? Why can't I remember anything clearly? Do I still have so much blockage? Is it just the way my brain is?

I fell asleep in the car on the way back to the house and had random, uninvolved dreams. I woke up frantic; couldn�t remember where I was going or where my luggage was. It took me a few seconds to figure out what on earth I was doing.

I guess I�m grateful for a normal, if stressful day. It was good to be outside, to talk, to think, to remember. I made a few important realizations on the way home; things best between me and the person for whom they are intended. Good things. Intentions. Movings forward. Yeah, I�m ready to go home.