Tag Archives: love

a tangent

it’s been four months (four too [f*cking] many) and two days since i last posted on here. i have written entries during this radio silence, but upon later inspection, those entries were mediocre at best. writing an entry from the confines of another home or a coffee shop just, well, it sucks. my creative juices tend to evaporate and i am usually left listening to those around me sip overpriced lattes whilst one-hit-wonder hipster songs play over head (it’s even hard to avoid if you wear a set of headphones which i tend to not wear because i feel antisocial enough and somewhat rude as it were trapped in my world of keyboard-ness). oh and happy new year and merry holidays, by the way! i’ve been so damn neglectful of my dear readers. apologies all around!

YOTPS4

i have not had my own personal desktop computer (i do not own a laptop) online since July. the hiatus was fine and at times quite pleasant (it’s a stellar excuse for missing emails, online bill payments, and the like – though i would never encourage that sort of behavior!). but it has also been a giant pain in the ass a bit frustrating because i realized just how dependent i (let’s face it, we) have become on this interweb luxury that we all take for granted. i have a smart phone, too. so it’s not as if i’ve been living in a remote part of the world without any electronics or ways to “reach” the inter-land. and for the record, i do find it quite pathetic just how exuberant i became yesterday when i realized that my own said smart phone (which i have had well before july) can, with a simple slide of a button on it’s delicate interface, become a “hotspot.” i.e. forget calling your local internet providers for service, just scour your phone for the hotspot option and slide the grey “no” to the blue “yes” and poof! you can get your computers, kindles, ipads, itampons (those exist now, right?) online anywhere, anytime ! hello 2013. my name is jessi and i am a complete dumbf*ck when it comes to technology. it doesn’t matter if i can operate photoshop with my eyes closed, that’s about as far as it gets for me and my competence of computers or really anything that has an extension cord, not to mention an operating system (or OS as you nerds technologically competent folks like to say).

there was a point in my life (as i am sure many people in my generation have encountered as well when computers and cell phones became what we now know them as) wherein i truly thought i was smarter than my parents merely because they appeared to have no clue about how to operate said smart phones, computers, or other new electronic gadgets. coming from a family with a father who worked at microsoft for upwards of 20 years, you’d think some tech-y gene would have landed inside my frontal lobe or where ever things like that land. au contraire, mon frère. my father has little to no understanding of technology and how it actually works, he doesn’t even own a cell phone and i’ve witnessed him, on many occasions, get so fed up with his collection of remote controls i fear they could, without warning, become the victim of his wrath by being thrown across a room or simply yelled at rather ferociously for being so stupid, those poor verbally abused inanimate objects. my mother, however, has a smart phone, an ipad, and a laptop and it’s reached the point where i truly believe she knows more about these gadgets than i do. in fact, when i was home in seattle last june for a best friend’s baby shower, i really wanted to watch a dvd at my mom’s house and we ended up watching television instead because neither us could figure out how to make the damn tv and dvd player align with one another. it was at this point i really had to reevaluate my own understanding of anything electronic. i could blame it on the fact that i haven’t had the luxury of a dvd and tv for over two years(therefore “out of practice”?, but let’s face it. i am a self proclaimed idiot when it comes to this new age of technology where a minimum of three remote controls seem to be a requirement for any television and computers and phones are getting “smarter” and “smarter” by the day. either my understanding for this stuff has plateaued or i’ve grown some seriously dumb cells in the recesses of my brain, which at this point, probably more closely resemble scrambled eggs.

YOTPS1

i remember my father had one of those giant grey cell phones when i was a kid that not only resembled, but also weighed as much as, a brick with a thick black antennae coming out of it (that stayed out at all times, there was nothing collapsible, convenient, ergonomic, or even functional about this big grey eyesore of a cell phone (particularly compared to today’s standards)). i’m not sure how often (if at all?) it was ever used. i remember it collecting a lot of dust. i also remember those beige-ish grey apple computers (that looked more like square plastic loaves of bread) we used in grade school to learn our typing skills on. i really only had an iota of interest in those machines because i would frequent my best friend Heather’s house most days after school to enjoy hours of playing both The Oregon Trail and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? i can think of no other reason for those machines now. they were not computers to my generation, they were toys. they were machines that informed me of having died from cholera or that Heather was lost and that cut three days off our trip. i always thought it a bit peculiar that someone who got “lost” in that game could shave anywhere from 1 to 5 days off your travels, but the death of a family member was just a drop in the bucket. no days lost, no apparent grieving or mourning took place, no tears shed. and no proper burial/funeral never once occurred. and i’m speaking from experience. i’ve Oregon-Trail-killed plenty of friends and family members. a death was akin to an announcement like, “it’s 56 degrees and sunny.” all of sudden ‘and then there were two!’

YOTPS3

Carved // Self Portrait // December 2012
however, i have to admit, flat out, that i think my understanding of technologically peaked at that age, hovering obsessively over The Oregon Trail waiting to see just how many people died, got lost, or sick. though my sister and best friend Heather seemed far more skilled at this game (sister, yes. Heather, debatable. (sorry Heather!))(ok, skilled at hunting, that is, because this game has little to do with skill, logic perhaps, but skill – not so much). i can’t tell you, nor would i even want to admit to, how horrible i was at hunting in that game. and an irritating fun-fact :: for any animal you shoot for food doesn’t really matter since you’re only allowed to bring 100 lbs back to the wagon at a time, even if you were to shoot ten 536 LB buffaloes, you would only get to keep 100 of those LBs.  i always thought that was incredibly lame, couldn’t the rest of my family (assuming any were still alive and not suffering from the measles) help you carry back some of your fresh meat? was it necessary to leave all of that fresh buffalo meat behind? wasteful. damn wasteful, especially considering how hungry those people on the wagon always were (it took them about two, maybe three days to consume the freshly killed meat).  and i absolutely loved the gamble you’d have to take when reaching a river crossing. do we “ford the river” or “caulk the wagon and float it across”? taking a ferry was also an option, but i don’t think we once opted for the ferry ride since it cost money. instead, we’d pick our poison, cross our fingers, and sincerely hope that one of our oxen wouldn’t perish in the process. i’ll speak for myself on this matter, but i remember feeling a great deal of responsibility over this ford versus float decision and i really took it quite seriously, as if i actually knew what any of it meant, though i did love to nod in agreement or shake my head in disdain if i felt someone (including myself) had made the wrong choice.
Screen shot 2013-01-15 at 3.11.11 PM
a good present day example to the anxiety that the “ford or float” decision causes :: being placed in the sticky position of being “the one” to choose a bottle of wine for a fancy dinner table and having a penguin-tuxedo dressed server pour just a splash into your glass, looking at you with rather bulbous eyes. positively staring at you with the expectation of your “highly trained palette” to make the call on some wine you’ve never tasted or heard of before and know nothing about (since my only “knowledge” of wine rests heavily on whether or not i thought the wine label was well designed). even when i never much cared for the taste of the splash of wine,  i never once (if memory serves) declared the wine to be “no good,” nor do i have a memory of sending food back (unless a meat dish was visibly expelling blood and/or undercooked).  i prefer my steaks to not actively “moo” while i eat them. under or over cooked veggies and/or sides will never fall into the realm of “send it back” because my standards when it comes to “fine dining” are so low, regardless of how many fancy restaurants i’ve eaten at. i am, after all, the girl who’s known for eating progresso soup at room temperature, directly out of the can, with a plastic spoon, in bed. perhaps my standards are extremely low or maybe i’m just a simpleton who considers food as fuel (though, when given the opportunity, i really do love to cook fancy meals, combining unexpected flavors and colors in my dishes. give me a full spread of food and a great kitchen, food is no longer food. it is cooking :: an art form, after all. however, in my current living situation, i’ve nowhere to properly prepare such a meal, nor do i have anyone to share it with, nor do i have anywhere to properly enjoy it as i lack any sort of dining space. my “dining room” is the side of my bed on the floor. so, now you must understand why i’ve fallen in love with my “Progresso Soup Diet” ?! plus, when you’ve no fridge, where does one store leftovers?
YOKO1

this ramble is so hither and thither. i’d apologize but i have so much to catch you up on. i lost my job at the art supply store i worked at for just over 2 years on November 28th of 2012. just in time for the holidays, as “luck” would have it. i will not go into detail about things because it’ll only lull you to sleep, my dear readers. i’ve made the transition from full time job to unemployed, but i have since managed to keep my head more than just afloat not only financially (by means of selling my work and also handling some commissioned illustration jobs), but also in spirit as well. i strongly believe everything happens for a reason and though i have remained a customer at that fine art supply store, i am relieved to have those days behind me. there were copious amounts of dysfunctional activities and behaviors that took place there that had made it more and more difficult to get to work in the mornings. i’d reached a point of absolute lethargy and also unhappiness which even verged on irritability (which is completely out of character for me) towards different aspects of the job and some of the people i worked with. i miss the customers. i miss the building. i miss some, but not all, of my co-workers. but since having left the place, my mood’s improved ten fold. my energy and spunk has returned. my irritability seems to have evaporated like steam from a kettle. and i can’t tell you how many friends, family, and most flatteringly, former customers of mine have wrangled around me in support (if any of you are reading this, thank you! couldn’t have picked myself up so fast or so gracefully without you! I LOVE YOU!)

nowadays? i am living life happy and free spirited and optimistic. grateful to be alive. skating upon each and every damn silver lining that seems to exist around every corner these days because when one is so dedicated to their 40+ hour a week job, one loses sight of everything else. silver linings become distant memories at best. the two days you spend off are usually a bust since you spend them catching up on both errands and sleep. i had such an incredibly wonky schedule at my last job (my arrival and departure times varied just about every day) and turned my sleeping schedule on its head. in the past few months i’d become increasingly lethargic to the point where i requested to get my blood drawn, assuming i was most certainly suffering from anemia due to how tired i’d become. i took supplements, i went out of my way to eat better and more often. when my doctor told me the only issue i had was a Vitamin D deficiency (big whoop), i was stunned. i was almost disappointed that i wasn’t anemic, because it’s easy to pump yourself full of iron and foods that contain iron. i began taking huge doses of Vit D immediately and felt no huge change in my energy levels, even after a few weeks of taking them. but then i was laid off and it was as if a spell had been lifted. my energy began to return within only a few days and i had to wonder, was all of the negative energy i had been subjected to at work causing my lethargy? honestly? yes, i think that’s exactly what happened. i’ve continued the vitamins and all that good stuff, but i am almost like a firecracker these days with my energy and motivation to work for myself. and thus far, it’s been paying off in a massive way.

YOTPS2

welcome to Year of the Pig Studio!

so, i am signing off here. you will be kept up to date far more frequently of my adventure(s) now that i’ve gotten internet access again ! until then, don’t forget about the silver linings. once you start looking for them, you’ll be surprised just how many there are.

xxx

jessi

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Filed under design, illustration & painting (both acrylics and oils), illustration (both acrylic and oilt), photography, Year of the Pig Studio // San Francisco, CA

ode to Mr. Bigs, the long version.

[the day he arrived, ten years ago]

i may have felt it coming. or maybe not. there was no calm before it, the storm that is, that hit my life last saturday night while i was riding the train to the airport. in fact, i’d been in an uncomfortably anxious state since the tuesday just three days prior. an inexplicable state of anxiety had enveloped me for reasons i could (and still cannot) hardly begin to decipher. maybe it was my instincts brewing, as if i knew something horrible was on my horizon. impending doom, if you will.

it was one week ago yesterday that my core, that intangible space that resides within us all, gave in, or out, however you prefer to look at it.

i had, just days prior, booked a trip to southern california. palm springs, to be exact. there’s only one reason (that i can think of) that a girl like myself would ever fly to palm springs for a “sunday visit.” that reason would be to spend a day at a horse show hanging out with a very special horse named Corvester and with a group of very special people who ride at a barn called Legacy. i first began riding at Legacy at age ten and to say that horses have been an enormous part of my life ever since (eighteen long years) is a major understatement. anyone who knows me knows my love of horses and riding is extreme. if you’re a horse lover yourself, you’ll be familiar with the concept of having caught “the bug” when you started riding horses. it’s like a disorder, a bad habit, and an addiction all rolled into one :: and it’s the best disorder, bad habit, and addiction i’ve ever had. in so many ways, i truly believe that horses have saved my life (regardless of the fact they’ve been “responsible” for breaking at least six of my bones). 

let me tell you a little something about this very special horse named Corvester. he is tall (17.2 hands in horse terms), he is dark brown (dark bay in horse terms), has a tiny white star on his big beautiful face, and loves to eat bananas (peel and all). he is extremely charismatic. he is affectionate. he is smart (smarter than a lot of people i’ve met, actually). he is strong, tough, wise, and silly. he will stand there waiting for you to saddle him up and wiggle his nose enthusiastically left, right, up, and down. the first time people witness this nose wiggle they usually wonder if something is “wrong” with him. no, there is nothing wrong here, trust me (there’d be something wrong if he weren’t doing his nose wiggle). he’s been doing this since my family purchased him ten years ago and he first walked into my life as a spry, wild eyed, and at times devilish ten year old. there was a time (about the first five years we owned him) that he was affectionately nicknamed “killer.” he has thrown many well known, well established, and extremely talented professionals on the ground just because he can and he probably just “felt like it.” he has a wild side to him that cannot be easily predicted, denied, or avoided. he will be turning twenty years old on May 18th and i am proud to say that in the last two weeks he has successfully thrown two different people on the ground at the horse show (one of whom he tossed off twice in the same day – sorry, Diane!). 

it’s not that he’s a bad horse with a bad heart, quite the opposite. he’s the f*cking best horse with the biggest heart i’ve ever known. it’s just that, sometimes, i think he feels it necessary to remind everyone around him who’s really in charge. it’s easy to take Corvester for granted because he’s such a good boy. beginners and professionals alike can ride him around without trouble. he’s ready, willing, and able. he’s the perfect teacher to any beginner (because he’s both calm and patient) and the perfect challenge to any professional (because he’s so well schooled). but, but, he’s got this tremendous fire in him that still, ten years later, has yet to fade. and i love him more for that and expected nothing less from him.

we imported Corvester from Portugal in April of 2002. i had spent two short days in the south of Spain “trying” horses, in an attempt to find a horse suitable for me to buy. after sitting on fifteen (if not more) some odd horses in two days, Corvester was the last horse i sat on. i had tried many great horses, many of which i thought would be suitable for me. but, none of them felt quite right. none of them were “the one.” trying horses is like dating men, forever in search of the perfect match. you may kiss and date many that are wonderful, but until you feel you’ve found “the one,” your instincts will tell you to keep looking.

[the nose wiggle + banana]

i’ll never forget that day, in the south of Spain, ten years ago, when i first rode Corvester, who is now known around the barn as Mr. Bigs, due to his stature and personality. the man we purchased him from was a 6’6″ portugese man. that is a very tall man, very tall indeed, and he fit Bigs perfectly. at 5’8″, i am not considered to be a short female, but i felt very much like a fly on Corvester’s back when i first sat on him. my first impression of Bigs? this has got to be the most uncomfortable horse i’ve ever ridden. it’s true, it’s a fact. he’s a bumpy guy. when i rode him around that large grass field of a warm up ring under a beautiful spanish sun, i was impressed by his energy, build, and power, but for the love of god – he was so f*cking uncomfortable i was damn near ready to cry and throw in the towel. my back, legs, neck, everything were hurting so badly. his trot was absurdly bouncy and his canter was downright painful. it took all of my muscle mass to sit on his back quietly, so much so that i spent the majority of this first ride standing in my stirrups to avoid, as best i could, his poor suspension. it felt as if i were riding an unstable locomotive that had just been derailed. and he was wild as all h*ll. his ears were perked up and he was chomping on the bit, eager to gallop and run a muck. of all of the horses i’d sat on, knowing he was the last one i had the time left to try, i was sure he was not going to be “the one.”

and then, and then, we started jumping. we began jumping low (around 3′) and in less than five minutes, i was sailing over 4’6″ oxers with Corvester below me. over the fences, he was more than just comfortable, he was like butter. the higher the fences, the smoother he felt. the ride between those fences were of absolutely no concern to me. that intense discomfort that i’d previously felt (and the oh my god this horse’s stride is literally going to snap my spine) completely dissolved. i had the opportunity to take him around a course of 12 or so 4’6″-5′ fences in a large grass field and all i can really remember is emerging from that grass ring beaming. the smile on my face could not be erased. and then i knew it, i just did. he was “the one.” the trainer who was with me sensed my euphoric state and said, “ok. that’s it. pack it, ship it, and deliver it.”

however, when “trying” horses, it’s not that easy. a horse must be put through “the vet” test. x-rays, blood work, flexion tests, and the like need to take place so that the buyer can feel rest assured that this horse is sound and in good health. i stood there while the vet performed his various tests. they were all speaking Spanish and Portugese, i had no idea what was going on. i was terrified that he wouldn’t pass the vet inspection, that some ailment would crop up (as it does in many cases during a vet test), and we’d be told he was no good, not worth buying.

what happened next i will never forget for the rest of my life. i was standing there, with my trainer, the vet, Corvester’s then owner, and Corvester’s personal handler. his personal handler was an old (well over sixty), wrinkled, and weathered man who was no taller than my shoulders. he had been Corvester’s handler since Corvester was around two years old. this old man loved this horse. i could see in his eyes this deep deep sadness at the prospect of Corvester no longer being in his care. while the vet ran his tests and did his thing, this man stood there solemnly holding Corvester’s lead rope. his eyes were filled was tears, though i never saw a single one roll down his cheek. i felt this horrible sense of guilt, like there was no way i could take this horse away from this man. but at the same time, i felt that i was there to receive Corvester. that it was my time to put him into my care and that i would be the next chapter in Corvester’s life. i wanted this man to know that if Corvester passed the vet check, he would be in the very best hands. this man did not speak a lick of english, nor i portugese, but i shook his hand. i embraced him tightly, and i cried. he put his hand on my arm as if to thank me and i do believe, at this point, he understood that if Corvester was going to go home with me, he would be well taken care of for the rest of his life. actions speak louder than words, do they ever.

so, now that you’ve “met” Corvester, i will tell you the tale from last saturday night. i was riding the subway (the BART) headed towards SFO to catch my plane south. during this train ride, i received a call from Shelly. Shelly is the gal who i have been riding with for eighteen years. she and i keep in fairly good contact, but we have not regularly called each other since i moved to san francisco. i knew that she knew that i was headed south, so i figured she was calling me about staying at her rented house or what have you. i was completely unprepared for what fell from her lips.

“Corvester is very very sick. he has a really bad case of colic. the vet will wait until the morning to see how he is, but the vet’s given him a 15% chance of survival at this time.” rational jessi kicked in immediately and merely replied, “oh my god. i’ll take a taxi directly to the show grounds – see you in a few hours.” Shelly was going to be spending the night there and i was going to join her, no question about it. the ride on the BART to SFO is about 45 minutes. those were possibly the worst 45 minutes of my life. i broke down in tears. i clutched my duffel bag. i rocked back and forth in the train seats, plenty of people staring at me. i willed the train to move faster so i could get to the airport faster so i could get to the plane faster so i could get to Corvester faster. my whole world blew up in my face. i couldn’t call anyone, i didn’t want to plant such a seed with anyone. i didn’t want anyone to know what was happening. that Corvester was likely going to be put down come morning, according to the vet. i wanted this to all pass like a bad bad dream.

i forced myself to call my mother from the airport. i needed to cry to someone. i sat there, at my gate, clutching my carry on bag, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face. i was in shock, panic, disbelief. losing Bigs would be like losing my own child. losing Bigs isn’t as option. it can’t happen. not like this. and then it all sort of hit me in a strange way. why had i so suddenly booked my tickets south? why had i just a week prior started painting his portrait on a huge 5’x5′ canvas? on any other saturday night i would have very likely been sitting in my apartment and hearing this terrible news with no way to get to palm springs quickly. this sequence of events was all so visceral. it is at a time like this that i thought and said to myself, “i was supposed to book those tickets. i am supposed to be with him. this is not a coincidence, this is something larger.” along side that train of thought, i kept repeating to myself, “please wait for me, Bigs. please, please wait for me. please, don’t go anywhere without me. i’m coming, i’m coming, just as fast as i can. please hold on until i get there.

[my tack trunk “bed”]

i finally arrived at the show grounds around 11:30pm. Shelly greeted me with an intense hug and i visited Bigs. there was an IV in his stall for him, but his state had improved a considerable amount from the time that Shelly first called me three hours prior. she was in a state of disbelief over how much better he suddenly seemed to be feeling. i just kept thinking, “we’re not out of the woods yet.” colic in horses is vicious, it can begin slowly and turn fatal without much warning – and vice versa. it’s a hell of an ailment that many horses suffer from. hearing your horse has a bad case of colic is more or less like hearing your horse is likely on their death bed.

Shelly wandered off to a heated room off the main aisle in the barn to catch some rest. i grabbed a dirty saddle pad (to act as a pillow) and two wool horse blankets and curled up on the tack trunk outside of Corvester’s stall. it was under 40 degrees and my whole body was hurting, but i was exactly where i wanted to be. Bigs watched me and i watched him. i think i got around 2 or so hours of sleep that night (interrupted). every sound i heard stirred me alert, fearing that Bigs was feeling worse. he munched on his hay and drank his water. i got up about every hour, just to hug him and hold him tight. i was a mess of tears, but next to him i felt stronger. i felt that we, together, would be able to make it through the night. he knew i was there and i do believe my being there gave him strength to recover. at 3:15am i heard a bang, bang, bang on his stall door. i awoke suddenly, bolting to my feet, to see what was going on. his head hung out of his stall and he just stood there staring at me with a twinkle in his eye, a twinkle i hadn’t seen when i’d first arrived. i raised up my arms and looked at him and said rather sarcastically, “what do you want?” he just stared at me and went back to munching on his hay.

but that’s Corvester. he would do that. he’d bang on his gate to rile me up, just to make sure i was still there, and then go about his business. i cried when he did this. i cried because i saw that sparkle in his eye and i knew he’d be okay. i knew he was back. not 100%, but i knew the worst was over. he’d just gone out of his way to bang on his door to wake me up only to ignore me and eat his hay. that is the kind of thing he would do, being the character that he is. he woke me up just to tell me he was going to be okay, i’m sure of this.

that’s when i rose from the trunk i’d been trying to sleep on, found a bike, and took a ride around the show grounds. horse shows are my old stomping grounds. i’d never actually been to Thermal before. years prior it was at another show grounds, called Indio – somewhere i had been. so, in the pitch black, i rode this stolen temporarily borrowed bike to the grand prix ring. i parked the bike and walked the next day’s course, in the dark. i took a handful of the sand footing in my hands and gripped at it, allowing it to fall through my fingers. i walked the entire course and counted all the strides. then i rode back and continued to lie on the trunk outside his stall, keeping one ear open at all times.

4:30 rolled around and Shelly woke up. the grooms came in around 5:00am. and by 7:00am the vet came around. he checked Bigs over and was in disbelief. he looked at me with a completely straight face and said, “your horse is a miracle. i really really didn’t think he’d make it to see the morning.”

euphoria swept over me like, well, like nothing i can describe. Corvester is my miracle horse, my miracle man. he is my world. the vet said he should be walked every two to three hours, just to make sure his tummy kept things moving to insure a full recovery. so, every few hours, i put a helmet on my head, a bridle on his, and took him for a thirty minute stroll (saddle free) around the show grounds on both sunday and monday. being the great horse he is, he still got frisky with me. he perked up and pranced with me on his back. i took him to the grand prix field on sunday afternoon to watch the grand prix (the big event of every week – the event that he and i used to compete in together). he got so amped up he damn near dragged me into the grand prix ring while the big class was going on. can we say best horse ever?

[mr. bigs, in all his glory. the love of my life. the day after surviving a near fatal case of colic.]

this horse is my life. he is me. he is my love. without him, i am not me. he and i are like one united force when placed together. as many stunts as he has been known to pull with other people, he hasn’t pulled them with me. we have an understanding. we have an unrivaled love for each other. he’s my Mr. Bigs. there’s nothing that will ever get in the way of a girl and her horse, i assure you of that.

jessi

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the laundromat (take two)

i complained about discussed the laundromat once before on this blog. if you’ve read that post, you’ll have a very clear understanding as to why i hate it as much as i do. regardless, tonight’s post has very little do with that place. the laundromat was merely a vessel this evening, a vessel that steered me in the direction of the Cable Car Museum. this museum is half a block from my house. one of my roommates once counted how many steps our front door is from that museum and i believe the count was one hundred and eighty one (if memory serves).

this probably explains why tourists flock to our particular street corner(s). that and the fact that the cable car stops directly outside of my front door (literally). it is the stop for Chinatown. at this stop they yell, “this stop, Chinatown, two blocks, straight ahead” and point in the direction of Grant street, east of Powell street by exactly two blocks. i really don’t mind tourism and sightseeing and the like. but when you are barely awake at eight something in the morning and heading for work, the last thing you feel like dealing with is a gaggle of strangers/tourists on your doorstep (a.k.a. sidewalk outside of your apartment). it’s not always crowded, but i swear on some grave somewhere that whenever i am grumpy/excessively sleepy/or something all around blah, that’s when the crowd is gathered on the sidewalk outside of my building.

they stand there like a herd of cattle, looking around for instructions from other people (or maybe the heavens?) to tell them what to do next, regardless of the fact that the man on the cable car pointed, very obviously, in one direction towards Chinatown while yelling, “two blocks, straight ahead!” my roommate’s bay windows overlook this very fiasco which is why i know it so well. we love to watch from his windows and admire the lost people below. my former roommate would sometimes interject during this moment of silence, when they had just disembarked from the cable car, and yell once again “CHINATOWN! TWO BLOCKS! STRAIGHT AHEAD!” with his thick Italian accent. and we’d all bend over in stitches from laughing so hard. the poor tourists below looked at us like we were vermon, which would only make us laugh harder. i suppose it was one small way we could retaliate against the crowds on the sidewalk and the non-stop clanging of the cable car bells at weird hours of the night.

so, this evening, i was at the god forsaken laundromat throwing my clothes into one of the dryers. i had a large pair of headphones on while i was listening to the soundtrack from the movie Amelie. if you’ve seen the movie, you’ll understand why i was inspired to do what i did next (and if you haven’t seen the movie, stop reading this immediately and watch it now).

i walked across the street to the Cable Car Museum. it was closed, but some of the old and very aged windows were not. and some of the lights inside were still on. and the machines were still pumping their gears. i watched from the outside, mesmerized by the mechanical workings going on within. it felt as if i were staring at a beating heart – watching all those valves and springs work in unison to pump the necessary gases and liquids and what-have-yous to where they needed to be in order to keep things running smoothly. my face lit up and i felt a smile grow on my lips. i knew what i had to do.

i ran home, feeling inspired.

i went to my desk and, using a ballpoint pen, wrote a simple note (in a bold hand written cursive font) on a piece of white paper. it read,

“love and let love.”

i ran back to the Cable Car Museum and placed this note in one of the open windows, next to an old can of soda sitting on the same window sill. upon that note i placed a small white plastic sheep (maybe one inch tall). i hope that someone finds that tomorrow and smiles. i think i might just keep going back there every week to deliver kind messages. i don’t see why not.

jessi

 

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Filed under design, illustration (both acrylic and oilt), photography

life is beautiful.

i have this terrible habit of getting down on myself (many of you can probably relate). i never feel quite right. or good enough. or something. and before i go on, this is not a plea for sympathy. i’m just laying down the this-is-what’s-up-with-me-now bullsh*t.

i awoke this morning after a somewhat interrupted night of sleep feeling tired, disoriented, and headache-y. this happens pretty often. i either have a hard time falling asleep before 2:30am or i’ll fall asleep quickly and rise at 4:00am unable to fall back to sleep. during this period of sleeplessness my wheels turn fast and hard. any and everything somewhat disturbing or depressing in my life (past or present) rears its ugly head and spins through my brain on repeat. the best way to solve this problem, i have found, is by playing endless games of solitaire on my phone until my eyelids are too heavy to keep them open. it actually works pretty well.

so this morning, i once again found myself feeling the lack of sleep hangover. i rarely drink caffeine. but today, like many days of late, i found myself looking for toothpicks to keep my eyes propped open. so i nursed a small cup of coffee (that i didn’t even finish). i love coffee, but due to the fact that i am hypoglycemic, caffeine only makes my symptoms worse. regular coffee drinkers will experience some amount of shakiness due to the caffeine flowing through their bloodstream. i, on the other hand, will experience a shakiness so severe that i feel nauseated. i become sweaty and dizzy and disoriented and grumpy, on the verge of blacking out. it is only when i find a piece of sugar (usually in the form of fruit – bananas being my first choice) that these ailments begin to subside. it doesn’t even matter if i’ve chugged a protein shake or a good breakfast prior to that half cup of weak coffee, my symptoms will rise to the surface. being from seattle, i feel somewhat ashamed that i can’t stomach real (caffeinated, that is) coffee. so be it, i stick to decaf when i can afford to.

so this morning i did something i haven’t done in a few years. even though i awoke tired and uncomfortable, i made the decision to look at myself in the mirror and say, “life is beautiful. i will have an amazing day.” did i believe myself entirely ? no, not really. but just the act of saying this to myself outloud was enough to dress myself for work, walk/crutch to work, and feel a sense of confidence i haven’t felt in years.

i had a headache for the better part of the day and the only thing that sounded even remotely appealing to me was my bed. my bed is a single mattress on the floor and yet it still sounded like the best place in the world for the eight hours i was at work. so i continued to tell myself that i was fantastic all day long. i even reached a point where i believed it – despite the physical and emotional discomfort i was experiencing. walking around work, walking to work, walking to lunch, walking home. i kept reciting to myself that life is beautiful. for the first time since i lived in new york, i paused many times during these slow walks just to admire my surroundings. the small moments that we overlook regularly because we are far too concerned with getting where we are going to do whatever it is we plan to do when we get there. so i paused, many times over. i was late back from my hour lunch break for this very reason. i was too busy admiring the “mundane” around me. and hell, losing a few minutes off my paycheck for some self love is completely worth it in my opinion.

i admired the sky. the sunshine. the fog that rolled in after work. the everything. i’ve had a rough couple of years. i really have. and i finally need to admit that and be okay with that. i think my rough couple of years all started in october of 2009 when a close family friend of mine was murdered in cold blood. this was followed by a series of unfortunate events. i’m coming up on the two year anniversary of this awful tragedy and feel as if i am finally finding some peace in my life and, more importantly, within myself. that’s pretty cool.

so, yeah. life is beautiful. if you or i don’t believe it now or today, i am certain that someday we will. with that, i have two of my favorite quotes to share with you ::

“everything will be okay in the end. and if it’s not okay, then it’s not the end.”

“just don’t let yesterday take up too much of today.”

[nikon 35 mm. 2010.]

jessi

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