a rudder.
Last night in the hills, my run was a mess. I went out fast and hard, charging up, up, up and racing down the moon. It is full tonight, but it seemed full last night, and the yellow was astounding. I broke out of the houses and into the trees by Tilden Park, and stopped to smell flowers in bloom, the sign of an early spring. Then it dipped and fell. The rush, the joy, the complete love for my existence at that precise moment, crushed by the hand of hunger. My blood sugar fell to the floor in a crumbling dance of clacking bones, and weak-kneed dreams of a million broken snail shells. A shipwreck of blood. how dramatic jefferson.
So I sat, and stretched, knowing that it would pass, and I would walk the miles home, and I would shower and eat and everything would be fine. But then I had my stroke of stupidity. I saw a lemon tree, and thought “fuck it, why not?” of course my stomach would explain why not shortly thereafter. I pulled a large yellow orb from the tree, and began frantically attempting to peel it. The skin was tight, and I was quite unsuccessful, so I just ate it like an apple. It was so sour, and horrible, that my mouth watered the “I’m going to vomit now” watering. But I did not. I ate the lemon in it’s entirety, and began my descent from the hills. I was running again soon, fighting off the worst indigestion and oncoming stomach ache. The stomach ache came on, and my evening was full of a twisting and turning belly. Suggestion: do not do that.
Meanwhile I ask myself, was that yet another lesson in patience? Why is patience so impossible for me? Why does my sadness sometimes cloud the staggering beauty of my truth? Alas I quote myself from an old song. “there’s still a young boy inside crying out, ‘I just don’t want to hide’.” simplistic perhaps, but true. As the water moves, I tell myself to lay my arms gently upon my chest, and let the life flow with beauty and grace. I only serve to muddy the water with my swinging arms. Perhaps my arms are lemons. Big yellow rafts, afloat on the sea of life. don't i at least get a rudder?
A difficult thing to photograph properly. Much better in person.
Posted by jeff pitcher at February 6, 2004 12:47 PM
....................................
That's my kind of haircut.
When I was a child, my friends and I would walk the backyard fences of our tract-home neighborhood, in search of the only true lime tree in the neighborhood. Limes were collected, cut in half, and the wet ends dipped in sugar.
stomach aches were a certainty, but those limes were fucking good.
Posted by: ChinRingDingO at February 6, 2004 12:55 PM
HOLY SHIT. the lion king is back! i remember you sportin' this baby back in davis. i mustered all the will power i had in me to stifle my laughs!
lemons, oh memories!!! a story i MUST share...i used to be a bad little girl when i was in the 2nd grade, a result from a combination of frequent fist fights with the boys and grueling catholic school studies (that shit can make gal go insane)...and i used to climb into someone's yard that bordered the school, until one day...the owner set loose her 2 rottweilers, and i found myself fleeing for dear life. hopped the fence, and just as i barely made it over, one of the rottweilers bit a piece off of my jeans, near the ankles. no flesh lost though. thank god. i went back to school and went straight to the confession booth..."dear father, it's been 5 minutes since my last confession...i stole lemons. will never do it again."
Posted by: Brina at February 6, 2004 01:21 PM
Nice one. Remember when you shaved your head in... I think it was Junior year of HS. You didn't want to fall into the SkinHead stereotype so you left that bit in the back... let that grow for years, and years.
fun memories.
j
Posted by: Joshua Levy at February 9, 2004 03:50 PM
I remember Andrea´s post about this haircut, so another 3 to go? Kind of weird and kind of great ..
Posted by: evina at February 11, 2004 03:49 AM
