Time keeps on slippin'

Holy shit. It’s the second week of March.

The last thing I really remember is the first week in January.

Work kinda … Exploded all over in an endless “oh my god how am I ever going to get all this done” sort of way which evolved into, “this is impossible, there is no way I’m ever going to get all this done, so what can I cut?” Which then transformed, rather rapidly, into “fuck this and fuck you, you’re getting what I give you, shut the fuck up.”

And then I got sick. Like stay home sick. Then I got marginally better and went back to work. Somehow I got enough done to put out information for the last show and then I went to Vegas to actually do the show.

7 days there and now home.

I have NO IDEA what to do with myself after that onslaught of work. I believe the minimum number of hours I put in was 79 and that was the week I was home for 3 days.

So now I’m drinking coffee on the back porch with Hankstar the cat (who is also drinking coffee from a tiny cat sized mug) and watching the rain. The rain, something about it, reminds me of Portland. But the sky it too high and the clouds, too white so really it is nothing like Portland. But it is raining a hard Portland rain, which is your basic set-your-wipers-on-the-lowest-setting drizzle for everyone else. I guess I just want it to be like Portland.

Maybe it is the sound of the water in the drain or the gutters, or the soft patter on the roof. Or the quiet of just me and a cat and it isn’t like Portland in the least. Really, I think it is the dream of Portland that I still hold dear and can’t believe isn’t real.

I moved there, Jesus, twelve years ago. Cell phones were the exception then, not the rule. You could have quiet, silence. I went expecting everything to fall into place. To set myself apart, to be magically inspired and desired by all. That whole early twenties belief that what worked at 19 on a college campus will work again because it hasn’t ever NOT worked. That belief that you really are as awesome and amazing as your ego tells you.

Portland is beautiful and incredible. It’s like another planet, a separate world from this. A place where these dreams of tens of thousands if twenty something’s came true. Where big business and backyard farming can live hand in hand. Where the homeless are set decoration and you can’t tell the difference between the lead guitar player for the latest alt.country/indie noise rock act and a street urchin. And really, in Portland, it is truly a fine, fine line.

But what I found there was so different than my expectations. Incredible natural beauty. Endless community adoration and pride. Local food and local retail. A love of the arts and the outdoors. I found these things. But what I couldn’t wrap my head around was that many of the people I did find were distant and aloof. That this great community of strangers were, in fact, rigidly separated. You had to have a niche. You had to identify with a group, a clan, a lifestyle. Which I found strange. At work I didn’t fit with the art kids, the indie rockers, the mustachioed set, the death metal gang, the overly outdoorsy, etc. I wasn’t in a band, I didn’t windsurf or own a Subaru Outback, I’m not going to discuss post-post-post modern art. The only people I did fit in with we’re the gay men. No surprise there. But, even in that group, I found that their interest in me as a person waned after the discovery that I was not gay. At least they didn’t ostracize me, perhaps they held out hope that I would change my mind.

Anyway, Portland is the kind of place where everyone doffs hats at one another, they help little old ladies across the street, they patiently wave pedestrians through crosswalks, they share the road with cyclists, they recycle and grow their own vegetables, they tolerate everyone that isn’t making a ruckus and even then, that’s their right, they say hello and how are you, but what I found is that when you reply that you’re doing fine… they aren’t listening and it never occurred to them to even care about getting a response.

Anyway, yeah. Here we are. So now what? The rain has stopped, briefly, so I think I’ll enjoy some more quiet and be glad that instead of work tomorrow, I get to go serve my civic duty as a potential juror for $12 a day.

via Tumblr http://thenelsontwins.tumblr.com/post/45040115769