6.13.2005

Mine

Lying in bed last night, atop a queen mattress in actuality but a single mattress in my brain. I’ve spent so many years perched on both edges of a single-width bed: back at home in Elko, in the dorms, down in California; that now I have the opportunity to reach out but I’m governed by remnant mental boundaries. All works out, however, since Lauren was gladly absorbing my unused portion of mattress…

The definition of true love does not lie in communication, humility, or any of the other standard replies. No, true love is defined by selfless release of all feelings and property. I let Lauren use my new Fred Meyer contoured space-foam pillow last night. There you have it, true love. (sarcasm, of course)

I’m sitting atop a yoga ball, screaming my thoughts to the screen (I will henceforth call it screaning) on this lovely Boise morning. Yesterday, during breakfast, cooking eggs in a frying pan, salting and peppering the solidifying puddles, I thought of James D. Allan. A welder by trade, his hands were calloused beyond repair and more heat resistant than any Kevlar oven mitt. Periodically during my childhood, he’d whip up one of the few dishes he made and made well: fried eggs.

So of course, after not thinking of him for weeks, months, his image pops in and obstructs the view of my surrounding apartment. Much like those cramps you get in an oblique rib muscle or a shot of pain from a high-neck/parietal muscle: sharp tingles from an entity you didn’t know existed or choose not to acknowledge.

I started thinking of my situation, my environment. I thought of him visiting me in my own apartment, making eggs in my pan with my salt and pepper. It was not a thought that saddened me, but actually pointed out another severe difference between him and me. It was rewarding, reassuring, to think of my situation. In twenty minutes I was headed to my job; my engineering job where I use my brain to design products, not my automatic medulla to accomplish a menial trade occupation. It is unfortunate yet gratifying that he does not own a house, a real job, nothing.

Is it wrong to exalt in another’s demise? Is that what I am doing? No, I’m simply giving myself credit for piloting my own life; navigating a path uninhibited or affected by his genetic or spatial influence. I’ve struggled with the feeling of genetic predisposition: the fear that I carry his hurtful, dysfunctional traits whether or not I am conscious of doing so. Well, that fear is being smothered by escalating confidence and accomplishment.

I am proud of my situation. Proud of my job. Proud of my eggs and egg pan and salt and pepper. I am mine.

6.08.2005

rest

Such a beautiful day in Boise. The sun shining so brightly, almost too brightly for me to see what I’m typing on the screen. Bright enough to distract me from writing by glancing through the words, through the blinking cursor at the silly contemplative reflection staring at me from the screen. I did not realize I looked this way whilst typing… sort of a scrunched, squinting and perplexed version of my normal self.


The summer weather is overwhelming. All the googlies are out: googly humans and googly animals worshipping the sun at full volume. I’m down at Dawson Taylor’s coffee house, downtown, DTDT, DT2. Sort of on my lunch break, though I’ve no intention of returning to work today. The job is flexible, almost too flexible on days such as today when there’s no impending deadline and the weather is phenomenal.


The bike path in Boise is alive in the summer warmth, too. Russian olive trees are in full bloom right now, their scent so pungently intoxicating it’ll knock you off your bike. If you could see smells it’d look like a thick levitating syrup, carrying the color of amber molasses and amplifying the sunshine in sparkly beads. Russian olives seem to remind me of Silverpeak, Nevada, a place I’ve not visited since moving away in 1987. I don’t readily recall memories before age ten, but that smell unlocks a distant world of childhood bliss that I’ve packed away.


A whole lot of time to rest this week, thank goodness. The tally was running well over 500 miles per week of riding… including a few high caliber races in the mix. John called it the “Big Push� before nationals: that last facet of training required to overload my body before resting and allowing the fitness to ferment. The training overloaded my brain, as well, and during the last week my mind's been rendered useless. I made mistakes during races I haven’t made since 2000, from under-dressing to silly tactical errors. Time to rest. I’ve had some wicked naps the past few days.


I am now in my own apartment. I returned from the race in Hood River this past Sunday evening, packed up on Monday and moved. Greg’s was amazing, a near-perfect situation, only surpassed by the opportunity to live on my own. The new place, a quaint little studio behind Ron’s house, is my first taste of independent living. For those who know my history, I’ve lived alone ONE time, though I don’t count a semester living solo in the dorms as independence. This apartment is big enough- not too big, close enough to downtown- not too close, and owned by a friend with whom I’m anxious grow in friendship.


So yes, I’m a rookie in regards to independent living, and the first night in my apartment passed in want of utensils, cleaning supplies, soap, etc. ShopKo solved those deficiencies the following day, though you know it broke my heart to participate in such main-stream consumerism. Hey, some things just shouldn’t be bought at thrift stores: sponges, shower gel, and can openers. Imagine trying to eat soup after using a can opener that someone used on pet food. Or worse yet, used on SPAM or canned mackerel. Yikes.

Lauren and I are doing well, each settling in to our respective routines. The difficulty still lies in matching schedules and spending time together, but so far we’re holding our own and the relationship grows from week to week. Scary how well you think you know someone… only to find yourself a month down the road thinking, “wow, I know you so much better than a month ago�, only to find yourself a month down the road thinking the same thing. Only to…. Yeah, you get it. Every month feels that way, and as we’re rounding a year and eight months together I’m excited to think of what’s next.


I’ll have to post some pictures of my new place; you’ll be both consoled and amused at my Spartan environment. The only decoration one needs is a Adolph Gottlieb print and poster of Justin Timberlake… guess which one I’m joking about? Who needs decoration with wireless internet and 70 channels of cable television?


Back to it. I should be gripping my day off like a last lung of oxygen, but instead I’m staring at my reflection, seeing the beads of sweat forming and wishing I could go pedal in this heat. More to come, I hope. The updates over the past few weeks have been sparse due to training and the aforementioned brain stagnation. Perhaps the rest will rekindle my words. Thanks.