Oh man, it was so depressing unsubscribing from Houston dance mailing lists. So many things I could just say, "Psych! I'm not really leaving! I had you fooled!" But unsubscribing had the same impact as putting in my two weeks notice at work. Working my last day of work just felt like I was going into a day off that was going to last a while. But putting in writing on her desk two weeks ago, that was heavy. It's like you spend your life running along this track, and you're preparing to leap to another one, and so you put in this burst of speed, lifting slightly, then lowering and using that penultimate step to change your momentum's vector from forward to upward. I am not yet on my penultimate step, but I can definately feel the difference between sprinting for a finish line and sprinting for a jump. I don't feel like I'm leaving my friends behind, because even though I've seen many of them for the last time, it was as though we parted with an elipsis, not a period. I'm not saying, "That's it, close my tab. Close my account. Don't look for me to walk through the door." I'm just saying, "See you later. I'm going dancing somewhere else, and you're welcome to join me." Knowing that I'm going alone, as I've always gone alone. Knowing that I'm going to meet the person that will always want to come along, that will invite me to all of her events as well, and who I'll never get tired of seeing, never get bored talking to, never wish I could just have a little space from. And yes, I hated ending all those clauses in prepositions, but "proper" grammar sounds so unnatural sometimes, especially when the other half of the sound is what I want. [laughs] It's time. It's time for me to get boxes, because I look around at all the things I have, and all I want to do is pack the things I'm taking, and leave behind all the things I'm not. Goodbye books I won't read again. Goodbye posters I'll never want on any wall but this one. Goodbye furniture that has served me well but I won't regret replacing. Goodbye bed that has looked after me so well. Goodbye shades that kept me safe from unwanted sunlight. Goodbye walls to which I've grown so accustomed. Goodbye wood floors that will always feel right when beneath me, to which I will become as a stranger, as a visitor. Goodbye toys that I never threw away and tools that I might have used once and won't use again. Goodbye Houston, with your long familiar infuriating roads, your plethora of interesting people, your wealth of opportunity and interconnection, your smog and light pollution and flat spaces that hide trees behind buildings and buildings behind trees. Goodbye.

So, for a while now, I've had a pain in the ass time reading people's blogs. I kept thinking to myself, "Why in the hell would anyone want their font to be this freakin' tiny?" I thought it might be something to do with my internet explorer settings, so I went in and looked around and couldn't find anything about it, so I let it go. There Are ways to cheat, after all, like copying the words into another program, or opening a page without the same formatting, usually comment pages and such. Today I found out why the words were small. Up under "View", I had "font size" set to "smaller" rather than "medium". Man I'm an idiot. [sighs] At least I can read things again. [laughs and shrugs]

For those few of you who don't know, I spent 4 years at Kenyon college in Gambier, Ohio. I have a degree in English, with a focus on Narrative Theory, and I did Ballroom dance so much that my parents joke that I double-majored in it.

After graduation, I moved back to Houston, Texas. I've been cooking at a country club (golf club) for the last two years. I've been dancing Country Western for a year and a half, Argentine Tango for a little over a year, and Lindy Hop for a little under a year, and Modern dance for about two months. I've also been working with the teenagers at church in a program called LifeTeen for over a year.

I'm now dating a wonderful girl named Lara, who goes to Ringling School of Art and Design in Sarasota, Florida, and I'm moving there on August 10th, to finally work in the Publishing industry (I want to be an editor of books or magazines) and train to be a Tango professional. If you would like to dance Anything (including contemporary) in Houston, TX, contact me for references. If you're in Sarasota, an hour south of Tampa, and need a place to stay for some reason, contact me. If you have a friend in the same need, they can contact me. And, if you have a contact there you think I should meet, to help me get a job/car/apartment, or for dancing or just hanging out, let me know.

To everyone who would like to hear more from me, just ask. I have it all typed out, but I didn’t want to send seven pages to everyone on my mailing list [laughs].
I can be reached at ashe.david@gmail.com, and I have websites at www.seventhguest.blogspot.com and www.livejournal.com/users/seventh_guest/, and I'm on facebook and myspace.

So tonight was interesting. My car was towed. So was my friend's, who parked behind me. In the street where I've been parking every time I've gone to Helios for the last year and a half. Let me preface this. At church, I was approached by a rising 8th grader and her mother, interested in LifeTeen, because I "work with LifeTeen, don't you?" I gave her all the info I knew, which was everything expect specific dates, because really, I haven't paid attention to dates of anything happening after I'm going to be gone. Then, swing dancing was really fun. Allison is engaged and soon to be married to someone with whom she's super duper compatible. My dancing was good. And the music kept going because the dj didn't feel the need to stop. At 11, I finally headed off to tango, followed by Amy's friend from school Mary Carmen and her mother Mary Carmen, both of whom are cool. We arrived at 11:20, had fun dancing until midnight, went to get our cars...and the street was empty. Apparently there is a sign that doesn't allow parking between 6pm and midnight mon-sat or noon to midnight on sunday, unless you have a special permit, i.e. you live in the fancy shmancy condos around the corner there. Their money and phones were in their car, and my wallet was in my car, but luckily I had kept my cell phone on me. And luckily a really cool guy named Alaafia helped us out (in the Houston Press, there is somewhere that you can vote for his band called Drum for some music awards...do so, because he totally needs to be repaid for his generous driving and advice). I got the run-around on the phones, given four numbers that I wrote down and more that I got from signs, not to fix the problem, but just to find our cars. Apparently, the tow truck drivers have two hours to report the cars they have been called by the police to tow. And you know what? It was my fault. Do you know why? Because despite my parking there every time I went, there was a no parking sign that I did not see and did not read. It's like driving faster than the speed limit because you never know the speed but always drive the speed of the guy in front of you on that stretch of road. And one day, you're going that speed, and you get a ticket, because you should have known. So let this be a lesson to everyone else: Don't pay $200 dollars to get your car back, and a $65 parking ticket. Read parking signs, every time you park anywhere that isn't your own driveway. [sighs]

It's ten o' clock at night. It feels later. The darkness hours. The center of the moon's reign. I lose all sense of time in front of my computer. I merely become action, without a before or after, just this during. It never helps to watch a movie. Our bodies are trained to believe that the end of the movie is bedtime. My brain knows better. The clarity obtained by watching something for so long is not false simply because the object of our observation is. I borrowed The Weatherman with Nicholas Cage. At the party last night, we watched Groundhog Day. A much better movie for a room full of college students, especially at one in the morning. The Weatherman was interestingly written. I hated the cinematography, though the music is good, and the writing isn't terrible. The point it makes is that in our lives, we boil and boil until all the possibilities evaporate down to one person. And that person is who we are. It's partially true, but we can always add more water, add more ingredients, add more heat and work with it some more. I don't know. I don't care that much. I feel expansive and restless and empty, intensified and solidly sensitized or electrified. I want to fly away through my hands, typing. Other things, letters, books, cleaning, putting things away or taking things out, they all seem so far away, even things resting under my wrists or sitting next to my elbows. I hate talking to people; I can't wait for Florida, to no longer have vulgar interruptions by my parents or brother, even by friends calling. I mean, right now. Last night was wonderful; I was in the mood to party until the sun rose, but no one else was willing. My dance performance went really well. I burned both elbows, a knee, and a bad spot on my foot from falling during one of the pieces, on purpose, in the choreography. I'm not used to clean marley (sp?), the black strip flooring used on the stage. Our rehearsal space is always taped there, so it's gummed and dusty. This was clean and freshly lain, turning was quick and light, my feet sliding easily out from under me when I needed them to. I stuffed myself to the brim of this hollow vessel on Mexican food, and then made it to the party at midnight, still 17 attendees in three groups. First, I sang with several seated around a guitarist, mostly classic rock and pop-rock, easily thrusting myself into the midst of them to see lyrics. Then, I played a game at the pool table that involved throwing the cue at a ball to keep it moving, getting a negative point if the ball stopped rolling on your turn; I won 2 of 3, to the irritation of one person. The third group I never joined, ironically, as it included everyone at the party that I knew; they were playing a strange board game that involved colored shapes made from squares placed on the board. I have no idea. Then a couple people left and we watched Groundhog Day. It made me miss Lara. Oh what I would do with infinite time! I would not have gone through a suicide phase. I would, however, have deplored the necessity of memorizing everything, as nothing written survived, no writing except that upon my heart and upon my brain. ...But now, I am alone, silence surrounds me. The typing of keys as natural to my ears as the sound of my heartbeat. The speaker emits a buzz of slightly-disconnected wires, and it offends me. Music, or a voice, would profane this space, this moment. Oh, how I wish I could share it, but you, reading this in your normal space, you cannot feel any bit of the sacred. Life intrudes too much. I am afraid, I look around and know that this room will not exist to me much longer. It will be cleaned up, some of the furniture taken, the rest moved. It will no longer be a sacred space, surrounding me with knowledge and words and colors and angles and shadows. The words come much slower tonight than the speed of my fingers. I find myself pausing between sentences for the words to catch up, for the silence to speak as thoroughly as my inner thoughts. I am aquiver with tension between waking and dreaming, between moving and staying, between impetus and action. I realize why people have drifted away from me. It's because I finally let them. Charles, so close yet so far, will I see you before I leave? You checked myspace this evening, so you're probably home in Houston. But I don't think I'll call. I've called twice. It's your turn. And you won't. Grace, it feels like a sin to stop reaching out. Toward you, after you. But I wasn't, really. I wish I could have been someone you wanted. Natalie, you were a foolish youth. I couldn't stand your drug abuse and selfishness anymore, so I let you go. You turned your life around, but not your selfishness. Congratulations, and I wish you well, but to you I am just someone passing by, someone to whom you won't turn your head. Michelle, I wish I could have talked to you. But I never could say anything, I never could make myself clear, or understand things from your perspective. I don't think I'll again get to try. So many others, hiding behind their jobs or their insecurities or their distance. I miss you already, and I'll miss you more later.

So, it has been a busy week. Between dance rehearsals, which went late every time teaching Rachell the waltz I had choreographed, and work, and talking to Lara and a few other people, and that pesky need for sleep, and all the driving, I had very little free time. I have much more free time this week, but life is still crazy. New things: I have tango shoes, and a cutaway tux coat. They're both awesome. Last week I had wednesday off, so I got shopping done and had sushi with Rachell, her daughter, and Chad. Thursday, I worked, then danced. Friday, I worked, then drove to Clear Lake to have the dress rehearsal...only to find that our building's water main had broken that afternoon and the building would be closed through monday, at least. I went to tango, then another place, and then The Palace with Rachell and some random Pakistani guy that liked Rachell. The Palace is a Columbian salsa club, so I was warned not to act weird in any way whatsoever, being as white as I am. We ended up being stranded there really late because someone stole Rachell's car key, because the keychain was a Columbian flag. She finally got the key back around 4:30am, without the keychain. [sighs] Saturday, I had work, then dancing (we performed outside Tommy's Seafood and Steak, with whom we had had a dinner special for the show. Most of the numbers were scrapped because they couldn't be performed on concrete, but we still had 5, and it was fun), then afterparty dinner, then long drive home with a stop at the after-afterparty at Susanna's house. Sunday I got to sleep in (yay!). I stayed up late finishing Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence, and slept in today, got a little cleaning done, talked to Drew and Lara, and then went to dancing. We're trying to perform on the original stage this coming Friday, and we expected to know today, but the university of clear lake people still don't know and promised us an answer tomorrow, so we just had a dance class. Most of us thought we would only be talking today, so we didn't bring dance clothes. I was doing ballet in some of my less-fluid khakis and a large buttonup [laughs]. Oh well. Three and a half weeks until I leave for Florida. I can't wait. But the time will fly, so back to cleaning and job hunting. Au revoir, blogger.

I hate being kept up all night by a question. In this case it was a simple one: What to title the waltz I choreographed? But still. The Only good thing about it is that I wake up still mentally functioning. A small trade off for waking up in cold sweats several times. [sighs] The dance show is progressing well and should be awesome. Tim's going to help me look right with a couple of movements. Costuming is easier than I expected. Blah blah, I have to go to work. I have advance-purchase tickets if you know you're going.

It was never the principle of the matter that gave me qualms. I never would have agreed if the principles conflicted. It was in the details. The sad, diva-esque, infuriatingly stupid details. Why they had to exist like that, I don't know, crying out that it was their way or the highway, even when they conflicted with other details that had no more right or reason for claiming such a thing. By then it was too late. I had fallen in love. Love is a grand thing, right? But all this bother with trying to spend your life with someone. I could tear out my hair. The choices change the details, the details make demands, the demands cause the choices to change, and it goes on. I want to be there. I want my brain to stop having reason to go on strike to improve labor laws. It will happen. I just have no idea how.

"I notice, I remember, I empathize. I don't want to. I touch the thought of the strays like it's home base, like they'll be safe if I light them a candle in my mind. If I could notice everything and remember it later; if I could think about it, prayerful, though I don't pray. Then it would all be all right. I just have to see it, know it, learn it, watch after it. And even then. I wind up mourning it.

"When I was about seven or eight, and I first understood the concept of death -- like, this was something that was going to happen to me, and I was going to stop existing -- I was horrified. I was like, are you kidding me? What are we all doing here, running aound in our hairdos, acting like we give a shit about the price of margarine; we're all going to die unless we start working on this problem right now, this death thing. Surely, we could use science to figure out a way to keep this from happening; if nothing else, I would become a scientist, a very smart one, and I would cure death. Just my own, perhaps, but that would be enough for me. I felt sad for all the other people who hadn't yet figured out how important it was to find a way to avoid death, like I was planning to do; they were wasting their lives. The purpose of life was to cure death. This seemed more evident to me than anything."

--Girlbomb

I don't remember when I first understood the concept of death. I was a very self-centered child, mostly because I had a twin brother, so the life revolved not around Me but around Us, and so I constantly strove against him as though my very livelihood depended on being better than him. Death, decay, that slow lapse or sudden end, all of these weren't anything I needed to concern myself with. I looked at a dead bird once, and I thought that it was sad that it didn't have more time. I fried ants with a magnifying glass, and I wondered if they felt fulfillment with the life they had lived. I jumped off roofs and ran around until my wet feet froze, not because I didn't care that I might die, not because I was too stupid to realize the danger of my actions. I just always felt that there was a path in front of me, and I took it. I don't think I'll fear death, because when my time comes, I'll take that path as well.

I've always had issues with this, because while I won't mourn my death, others will, even if I tell them not to. And I don't mourn the death of others, because they are going on to the next book, while I have to finish this one. And I can't stop reading or skip to the end, because that's not how it works. I see the sorrow of others, and I understand in my head that they wish they could see that person again, they think that death has robbed us of them, and them of us. But I see no robber, only a doorway and a guide who opens it before us. And that first day on the other side of that door should be celebrated like one's birthday, like a wedding anniversary, like the birth of a child. The comfort of the womb ends at birth, the single life ends in marriage, the self-centered life ends at children, but we do not mourn these things, for while we enjoyed them, we are glad of our new lives, our new futures. I mourn the suffering of the world, the pain and misery so many cause or endure, the unfairness of it all. But I do not mourn for death.

Dream last night (this morning):

I was having a bit of difficulty getting out of bed, as usual, but I finally dragged my butt up and went to work. But it wasn't my regular job, it was this huge dishwashing factory or something, or maybe it was a kitchen with a billion workers, I don't know. All I know is that I was there to clean up, and I had to tell people what to do because they couldn't figure out how to clean up. For example, you have to use the vacuum cleaner as an extension cord for the hand vacuum, and you need to have someone hold open the plastic curtain so you can use water to spray off the outside part of the fountain/dishwasher. We had to clean everywhere because there was bits of food everywhere, including all over the floor and on every surface. There weren't many tables, so it was almost like they worked on the metal surfaces of the floor and walked on the tiled surfaces of the floor. The regular employees kept getting in the way, walking around like voyeurs to see what we were doing. Idiots! Anyway, we finally finished and I went home, and I had just turned on the computer when I got a knock on the door. It was Andrew Ferrett, a guy from choir in college, and Miss Chevius, a girl on Lara's friends list. But it wasn't Miss Chevius, but just someone I thought was her, and she just rolled her eyes (which were several inches above me because she was like 6'4) and never introduced herself. Anyway, Ferrett was there because I'd written that people could come by if they needed to, so he came by. He had brought the tall girl because she was new in town and he wanted to show her a building on our side of town, but we had to go to a dance rehearsal first. I went with, wearing (as usual) all black. One of my friends, which may have been Susana but was otherwise someone of the same short and thin body type, was wearing all red, and had a red blanket. We were all in this room (and I mean about 15 of us), and each of us had our own armchair facing in a random direction. We then went outside, and we were on some citystreet college campus with another classroom building across the street, and there were some steps and then a long sidewalk to the street in front of us. Well, the group (all but Ferrett and the tall girl at one point, and all but me at another point) rehearsed a dance number on the steps. It wasn't very solid, but they didn't have much time to make it any more solid. There was another group that wandered by during part of it, and we just ignored them, even though some of the girls were worried that they'd steal some move or just laugh at us. Ferrett reiterated that we needed to go, and I asked when her flight was, and she laughed mockingly and said that she was going to be there for several weeks yet, so I replied that the only conflict was that I had to be at church at a certain time, and that shouldn't conflict at all. But at this point, they both look a little uncomfortable with me, and I realize that they regret dragging me along and want to go alone, so I let them and go back inside, only to stumble across a big pile of candy. I ask one of the dancers about it, and she (one of the tiny anorexic types) says that no one is going to eat it, and they'll probably throw it away. So I grab a half-filled box and toss all the candy into it, filling it past the brim. One of the teachers walks by, and he knows me and greets me and shakes his head with amusement about the candy. I can't remember who it was, but I think it might have been Brother Casey, the Dean in high school who always managed to find me wherever I'd squirreled myself away to read or write or do homework (it was often somewhere I wasn't supposed to be). Anyway, I also took a cooler half-filled with drinks, the things that wouldn't fit in the fridge, which was a 12 pack of cheap beer, two 6 packs of pricey beer, a 12 pack of dr pepper, and a 6 pack of diet pepsi. I headed to church, since I didn't know if I had time to go home first, but it wasn't church like usual, because all the core team members were in this small building in the woods, like a retreat center or something. I shared a little candy, and then Charlie led me off to the actual lounge with a fridge where I could put the drinks, since we couldn't put beer where the kids could get to it. I gave him a hug and left, and then I woke up.