Early mornings have become my new favorite time. My rides in the morning happen faster these days and instead of sleeping in a bit longer, I'm on my bike as soon as I possibly can so I can see what is going on in the world. Today I spent much too long looking at the dew and overgrown grass near the side of our home--just happy to be noticing it.

I try to meander as much as possible by the canal and Lake Union. It's a lazy ride. Just me, the water, and other 6:30 am people. If I'm lucky, I get to quack at ducks as I'm rolling by. Sometimes they quack back.

I'm so much more relaxed and calm these days commuting by bike. I feel so much more connected to my surroundings and my own body these days. So much less aggravated by traffic or depressed listening to the news.

Admiral Radar Burgertime Dolomite, Esq
I found out that my dog counter surfs when nobody is in the room. We knew he did, I guess I was just surprised at what an opportunist he is. He devoured almost a whole pound of tofu while I left the kitchen to answer a phone call. My fault for leaving it right there. That was my lunch for the next few days. :(

Also, after watching "Bullit", I realized I made a grave error in naming Radar. He shall now be called: Admiral Radar Burgertime Steve McQueen Dolomite, Esq.
That rolls off the tongue so much better.

Paycheck
More work nonsense. This time Theater Lady is obsessing over the death of a co-worker's mother. This whole drama-dressed-up-like-empathy is starting to wear on my nerves. I'm sure I seem like a heartless bitch to her because I've sent my condolences and had a few personal words with the co-worker and am over it. She's totally distraught and won't stop talking about it. This is just days after her meltdown about one of our pediatric patients dying. I find this to be the pinnacle of narcissism. This isn't her tragedy.

Listen, you people who say "Oh, I guess I just feel too much" and cry and have emotional meltdowns any time they hear about someone else's tragedy: Stop it. It isn't that you feel to much. It is that you have wildly inappropriate boundaries and are a complete narcassistic attention-whore.

Not everything in the world is about you. Stop being self-referential about other people's sadness. You aren't being empathetic. You can't even actually BE PRESENT for the other person as you are too busy being worked up over your own feelings and trying to own someone else's feelings. You are an emotional feeder.


Fight
I'm quitting the studio. I hate to do it, but I absolutely refuse to drive to/around/in Northgate unless it is a real emergency. The last time we had to go to Northgate was about a year ago, and you would think that instead of just driving somewhere, I was about to have bamboo shoots shoved underneath my fingers. Not only did I wail about it for 30 minutes before we left, I kept saying, "Oh Dear Jesus in heaven! This is horrible" the ENTIRE TIME we were there. I know I'm not going to drive out there so I might as well not fool myself.

I'm looking at some other places to just do maybe some plain old Western boxing. The MMA studios around my work and such seem to be filled with 19 year-old meatheads who want to be the next UFC star. That's no place for a 5 foot tall, 35 year-old woman. I wish to god I still lived in Beacon Hill so I could just easily go to Cappy's.

Film
Watched "Inland Empire" last night. It's still rolling around my head this morning. It's another film that will take a second and even 3rd viewing. While I got the jist of it, the non-linear, bipolar, rooms opening into rooms is hard to grapple. The emotions the film invoked are hard to deal with.

It feels like Lynch totally and utterly unrestrained. Film students will be watching this one for years and waxing poetic about the deeper meanings of the film, but I don't think there IS any deeper meaning, any symbolism, any explanations, anything deeper than what it is. Just David Lynch being himself in all his self-indulgent, surreal, and beautiful glory. Not to mention Laura Dern giving a breathtaking performance.

Finally
I don't care how many times I hear it, when Nina Simone croons out "Wild is the Wind"--I swoon.