Yesterday we drove about a 107 hours to the beach. To get there you have to drive to Olympia and turn left and not get all tangled up in Aberdeen and Hoquiam and their one way streets that send you north instead of south. Aberdeen, strange quiet empty town of lumberjacks and former lumberjacks and goth girls with pink hair and black fingernails waiting to get out. Aberdeen, where Kurt Cobain was born and escaped, escaped to the BIG TIME, his beautiful body and despair trailing him.
( a spider has built a tightrope from the coleus plant to the cat scratching post)
Ocean Shores was a madness, sulfur in the air from firecrackers, jeeps and SUVs and motocycles parked on the beach, beach chairs pulled into circles, dogs tied to the barbeque grills, kites shaped like dolphins and sharks and flamingoes and fighter jets. There was the CAR part of the beach and the NO CAR part of the beach. The sand was warm and fine. The water was tinged with green, breaking into green bubbles. Wide and long.
Felix ran into the ocean over and over. Then he ran around on the sand until he was unrecognizably dirty. He slept all the way home, except to wake up and bark at firecracker noise. He even slept through the war streets back home, smoke and booms and hissing crackling til one AM. I know it is the day we celebrate our independence from the Brits. 'We' were a bunch of farmers with a few guns and shovels. The Brits were an effing army with generals and strategy. And we kicked the fuckers out. Back they went. So now we pull up lawn chairs and watch the show. Or we hide in our houses consoling the animals who have no idea what the fuss is all about. Sometimes I don't understand my fellow humans. At all.
When I return for therapy, I want to lie on the couch with a cool rag on my eyes and drink tea from an eggshell china pot. Today, my therapist said I'm not depressed more melancholy. I embrace melancholy. I think Chopin was a melancholic. He had TB too so that probably contributed. Melancholy: A deep, pensive, and long-lasting sadness.
I go camping with Maya and Milo and Tracy and Brian and their offspring very soon. In Orgeon on a lake/river/I don't know this year.
I think Blogger sucks to make us all title our posts. WTF? I don't like being told what to do.