minor miracles

The fact that i can be calm and rational and cool always surprises me. Usually because in my head it's the complete opposite.

Right now it's kind of hard for me to adjust to the idea of being gone for three weeks is hard. Only because i know too well that the world here will still be proceeding at its current pace.

i've been doing some stalking of this artist that i saw a couple months ago at a first Thursday exhibit. There he was reflective the painting of my dreams. A pensive looking young man looking off into space. For some reason i felt an infinity with a painting, A PAINTING- which may sound weird, but there are times that something will move your soul and captivate your being. i went searching, knowing that there was someone who by now owned the painting i love. The woman at the gallery confirmed my dread- someone else had purchased my reflective soul mate. However, she knew the artist who is local, and called him to ask if he would be willing to paint another painting- not identical because where is the true art in that- but one with the similar qualities. i always hated being the one who asked for special treatment, even if it's not a big deal- but here i truly don't want to offend a talented artist who paints how he feels. i have to say those moments of inspiration are rarely duplicated, and sometimes it's for the best. He did agree, and i feel humbled by the thought of someone painting something of that nature just for me.

On my way home today after the glory of the gallery i was waiting for my bus across from Powell's . i like to people watch, and often feel bad for those who stand selling magazines, or newsprint- especially since they aren't always treated with the respect that every human desires. It was funny, because i could have sworn that it looked like my cute bus driver was standing there handing out something that inspired him. i knew i would never get it out of my head if i just went home- and honestly i can never turn Powell's down. It's like the mother ship calling me home. i say this gingerly, if i were to sell my soul it would be for books or music. (i digress i know)
In my head i thought, "what do i have to loose by just walking by?" So again i crossed the street, trying to figure out how to get a good look w/o being looked at. Well, that didn't really work, why? Because when he sees(yes, because it was him) me he says "i recognize you, i'm a bus driver i think you're on my route." (my first thought was 'and i gave you my number last year that could be noted in history as the most unsmooth way to give someone your number- hey that's how i roll) Apparently his passion- socialism, just in case you were curious. we made small talk about the wonders of Powell's and that he spends hours in the leftist section, and that i just love books and i will read just about anything that will keep my attention (i am now realizing- this may not have been good on my part to say this because it makes me sound stupid or shallow). So i realized that i didn't know how to keep the conversation going so i made polite said i needed to go inside. Plus at this point i realize that i don't have a clue about the socialist's appeal, and i want to save pace. i admit, i am interested in the idea of socialism, and curious about marxism, so for me it's no judgement that he's selling his marxist literature. i think that's the beauty of this country, the ability to peacefully support your cause.
At this point, i can't concentrate, i am now getting to spot where i don't feel overwhelmed in Powell's. It's my candy store, and i want to overdose so bad. i did find a book by a feminist author my friend talks about.
AND i did see him on my way out, asked if he had sold another newsprint, wished him luck, and told him to take care.

i don't know how to say how liberated i felt. It felt amazing to converse and not vomit, it felt amazing to be able to walk away and not feel that i ever threw myself at him. i feel rational, i'm always amazed when i feel that i've acted like an adult- because even at 30 i still feel like a little kid, and that my mom will tell me it's time to come home and get ready for bed.

getting ready

It always amazes me how time flies. . . Although with all that is going on it can believe it.
It is official, i'm allergic to spring, and basically everything that i love about Oregon. . . except the rain, i love the rain, and so far i'm not allergic to the rain. . . i am however allergic to nuts. . . which will drive me crazy, i did get sunflower butter. It's not too bad, it's no peanut butter though. . . i am hoping that altering my diet will affect how i am feeling. i really don't seem to have much energy, so maybe knowing this will help me feel better- and help the break outs.
The countdown has begun, in two weeks i'll be leaving for Tanzania. It still feels surreal to me. . . Although all the random things i'm buying, and the shots i guess makes it feel real. . . i go between being excited, and a little panicky about the unknown.
i may do a blog or two on the lahash blog: www.hopeisalive.com.