this is not my beautiful house

April 16, 2010

I wanted to write about how I don’t believe in silver linings, but once I started writing I realized I couldn’t explain it very well. And it’s not what’s on my mind right now anyway. The sun is shining. That’s what’s on my mind. There’s a bunch of blue sky right outside my window, along with a stretch of hills that would be called mountains in Indiana. And yeah, it’s stunning and everything, but I don’t want to be here right now. Not here as in sitting at my computer, but here as in the great northwest.  I want to be New York or Paris or both. I want to see the Lucian Freud at the Pompidu and check out the Whitney Biennial. I want to ride a subway. I want to look out a window and not see mountains, but an endless city view. I want to hear horns and traffic and people talking. I want to walk down the street and turn my head because some guy or gal is dressed to the fucking nines. I want to wave down a cab. I want to be stunned by humanity. Not overwhelmed by nature. Or the unending whiteness of inner Portland.

On the other hand, it was pretty cool playing blocks with Finley at her first birthday party. And I’m gonna grow vegetables this summer.

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