I am not eactly thrilled at the moment.  Jordan, who is a huge source of support for me, is going away for two weeks.  I am happy for him, that he has the opportunity to travel, but I also rely on him a lot, so I am selfishly (albeit quietly) dismayed.  I am going to have to be strong.  Right now, I am smoking, and listening to Modest Mouse.  Filthy habit…  (the smokes, not the mice…)

"Well, Cowboy Dan’s a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes to the reservation drinks and gets mean
He’s gonna start a war
He hops in his pickup, puts the pedal to the floor
And says, I got mine but I want more"

I just want to run away, sometimes.  I feel teathered to outpatient.  I feel locked into a routine I don’t feel right about.  I feel like I am losing something, every day that I don’ figure out how to piece this mess back together.

God, how many things did I miss?  The things I could have done with that time and money.  I could have done something good with my freaking talent.  I could’ve helped people.  I had idealistic notions about doing things like that.  I wanted to run writing workshops for incarcerated youths and aduilts.  Instead, I nearly joined the ranks of the incarcerated.  Heroin’s a serious drug.  People do real time over this stuff, and not just county time – I mean state time, and boot camps – most long term, drug offenders get bounced to state prisons in Illionois, even if they should be in federal joints, because the state likes to whore them out at near-slave wages, to make loads of money.  I managed to avoid that noise.  Lucky me…  I never spent a night in jail.  And, part of the reason, I am sure, is that I still seemed redeemable to the judges involved.  I didn’t share their optimism, back then, I took breaks where I could get them. 

"Well, Cowboy Dan’s a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes to the reservation

drinks and gets mean
He drove the desert, fired his rifle in the sky
And says, God if I have to die you will have to die
Well, Cowboy Dan’s a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes the the reservation drinks and gets mean
I didn’t move to the city, the city moved to me
And, I want out desperately"

I was also given certain breaks by cops, after they’d bust me.  One let me use the bathroom before I got searched, at the precinct – I am not kidding.  He felt sorry for me.  He caught me walking out of a project – thought that I was some little white girl who’s coward boyfriend had sent her in there for him (Charlie was in the car).  I didn’t argue.  It didn’t matter what they thought of Charlie – they had nothing on him, so he was going to walk away clean.  I, on the other hand, had two bags in my pockets, and when it became clear that these cops were going to haul me in, even though they had no initial (or legally just) cause to do so (they just knew), I decided to play nice.  (In reality, they were saving themselves some paperwork, too, b/c they knew my arrest would be thrown out by a judge, since they had no real cause to take me – the drugs would have eventually been thrown out, too.  But, what a mess that would have been…)  Nevermind the fact that I am not white…  I saw how they treated black guys at the station, who they’d rounded up in the lobbies of the projects (some of them were bound to be clocking, but some were bound to just be passing through, on their way in or out), and I was in no hurry to deny my perceived whiteness.  Law enforcement jams are the only time I have ever let myself, "pass" for personal advantage.  

"Can’t do it, not even if sober
Can’t get that engine turned over

Standing in the tall grass
Thinking nothing
You know we need oxygen to breath, oxygen to breathe

Whenever you are walking you’re just moving the ground

Whenever you are talking you’re just moving your mouth

Where ever you look, you’re just looking down"

I was the only Native American at my grade school, and before I started wearing sunscreen, every day in my teens, my skin just ate the sun.  I had this dark tan that seemed to stick year round.  I was just significantly darker.  I clearly wasn’t white.  And, since there was no angry gang of Native American kids to gang up on anyone who slurred me (everyone else had that kind of racial backing, haha), I got surrounded, at times.  Kids can be stupid.  They’d run in circles around me, making "Indian sounds."  Clever stuff…  anyway after years of taking senseless abuse, I got really stubbornly proud.  So, yeah the only time I ever held my tongue about my background was when I thought the misperception was protecting me, somewhat, when dealing with the five-o.

"He drove the desert, fired his rifle in the sky
And says, God if I have to die you will have to die
Well, Cowboy Dan’s a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes the the reservation drinks and gets mean
I didn’t move to the city, the city moved to me
And I want out desperately" (Modest Mouse, "Cowboy Dan")

Need to get moving.  I have that bit of poetry by Robert Frost (that I like so much) stuck in my head:

"the woods are lovely dark and deep, / But I have got promises to keep, / And, miles to go before I sleep. / And miles to go before I sleep."

Sometimes, I feel that way about letting myself get lost in anything – even my own imagination.  And, there are so many things to think about, with a racing mind…