Who was your first favorite super-hero?
It has to be Batman. I remember in about 1965 my dad mentioning Batman, and I asked him what that was, and he said it was a man who dressed up like a bat to fight crime. And I didn't know there was an animal called a bat so I associated it with a cricket bat, and I thought it was a man who literally dressed up like a cricket bat. It was really peculiar but intriguing. And then the TV show started and I watched it and I was really puzzled because he didn't look like any cricket bat I had ever seen.

your waitress was miserable, and so was your food.

Well glory be, here I am in California again. Suffice to say, Katrina Barnett is pwning this year. Travel, money, and finally a cross-country trip on the mythic greyhound bus. I say that because I have long dreamed of riding the greyhound long distances. I'm not sure why, it's probably another part of the American experience that I have romanticized (like many aspects of travel that are actually not so *very* nice, but which, when viewed through the proper scope-- or an exaggerated one-- said aspects are simply accepted or even beloved. Much like the greyhound on-bus bathroom, which didn't seem so bad at the time but in retrospect was absolutely intolerably disgusting, even though the bus was supposed to be serviced/cleaned every few hours. Blah).

I am only in the golden state for a few days, days which have already pretty much expired. I first hopped the bus from ND to Missouri, making my way through Minnesota, Iowa (weird state), and Illinois, which I love for some reason. I then attended my dearest friend's graduation in Canton, Missouri, one of the strangest little spots. I do love the Midwest, though. With all regard for cheesiness, the good old Midwest really has that "heart of America" feel. One feels like the wheels that turn there pump the blood to the rest of us, almost especially to us here on the west coast.

Anyway, after exploratory trips to St. Louis and Springfield (home of Lincoln), I hopped a comfy bus at the sketchiest night spot in existence, attempted to sleep five hours in the St. Louis bus station, and spent about three days dragging through the Northish South, including the recently ravaged Joplin of tornado country (astonishing destruction). The evenings made me cranky, especially when we had to stop to service the damn bus at overstuffed terminals that happened to be undergoing renovation (at 2AM I was so, so very bitter about this), but other than the lengthiness of the trip I was generally comfortable and loved the chance to see the scenery, despite the fact that I could not hop out and have a look-see at everything that we happened to pass. New Mexico, which I have been to before, is just a lovely sight, and Arizona has its own weird appeal. It was interesting to see the terrain change so rapidly from the midwest once we started to go through Oklahoma. Anyway.

Although I've been pleased to take part in two graduations and I'm beyond psyched to see my friend's amazing play, I am regretting making this trip a bit. For some reason it has made me very sad. I'm curled up in my friend's room right now in an empty house as everyone has somewhere to be, and I'm listening to the sound of California outside and I'm still left with this aching sadness. I know I have a plan and everything, and I'm happy about that, but the uncertainty of life is killing me right now. I can't go, I can't stay. On top of my existential dilemma, I have actually not seen too much of anyone while I've been here due to everyone else's transitions (not their fault, no bitterness), but this has left me even more to my regretful thoughts. I feel a bit sick. Being here now is almost like finally swallowing the pill of life-is-different right now.

Sigh. I am very weepy. But then what is new about that, really? I must say I have gotten better at simply dealing with things and telling myself to just carry on, that dwelling on sadness only makes me more miserable, but I suppose these past few days have been a relapse. Too much existential time. I am also an expert on self-pity and probably PMSing or something like that.

Which is probably not good for my emotional state as my friend's play is opening this evening in all of its emotional glory. I sat in on a rehearsal for a bit the other day between set assistance and... whatever else it is that I've been doing here, and the vignettes in their rawest, unlit form made me nearly tear up. It just reminded me how much I bloody love theatre. There is just something classical, more exciting, more complicated.. MORE about theatre than any other art form. Of course I am a film-y, but theatre does form a connection to its audience and participants that film cannot. It really inspires me. I want to put on a play. Though, as per usual, I'm not sure if that's me just wanting to be able to say I've done it or if I really want to relish the experience of the event itself.

I have realized, at least, that writing plays is the most difficult of the forms, except for poetry which I'm total crap at and will never attempt again. Plays are good reading, but not as complete to write. The dialogue, something I think I excel at, is king and that's nice and all, but you lose control of environment and atmosphere. The description of setting and action are so limited in plays that the crafty control that you can exert over your screenplay creations does not get to (they tell you to take it easy with your directions in those, too, but there are clever ways of getting around that).

Still, it'd be nice to be able to write a really good play. I had an idea years ago for a little one act about a young George and Martha-esque couple (cue my favorite play, I guess), a college couple. The girl is not terribly attractive an a total bitch to the very attractive, popular guy. Turns out he is essentially blackmailing her into being his better half because he's always been somewhat obsessed with her (and turned on by her cruelty); she had a strange affair with one of their professors and the guy took his chance to snag her. By the end of the play, the two have settled into some bizarre contentment-- he because her cruelty is satisfying, and she because he's really been the only man in her life to love her for her true, harsh colors.

I thought it'd make an interesting experiment but it would probably be one of those plays that's no fun at all to sit through.

When I get back, it's Writing City.

Shh, this is the library. People are sleeping in here.

Another week of survival in North Dakota. Another week of enjoying the change of scenery. I do not hate anything here yet. That's weird for me. I really was afraid that this would be a place I would have to just soldier through-- make money, get out-- and though it's not California, I don't feel that way about it at all. I love it, actually. It is the strangest combination of new and ancient. It's an underrated place, I think. It may be the most forgotten state. At least it's not generally hated like Nebraska or anything (Nebraska may just be the only state I'm not interested in seeing. but then again I don't know too much about the place and the point is moot. moo. a cow's opinion). There's such a feeling of excitement here. It's like watching imaginary covered wagons roll in every day, seeing Help Wanted, Sign-On Bonus signs in every window in every paper (Ok, there's really just one paper but STILL). I've seen liscence plates from all over the US, either students or worker newbs like me, poking around. It's so promising. I like that. At the same time there's an age here, all around, that adds a strange dimension.

When I think of beautifully "aged" surroundings I always think of how amazing Europe must be with all of its wonderfully preserved old buildings and classic architecture, cobblestones that people have been walking on for centuries. But there's a different sort here-- the Westerner sort that I never really considered. Texas has it too, but not as much as here. It's an almost mystic quality that the backroads give you. The sky here is gigantic because there is nothing to obscure it. The plains here seem as though they have been as they are forever, only the fences have changed. One can picture old Model-T's straining to putter around the roads, then cowboys roaming about before there were roads, then Native Americans, as at home to wander from season to season as we are to stay inside of our heavily insulated houses now. It's an interesting feeling.

I have a job! I spent about a week interviewing but ended up taking the one that offered to hire me on the spot. It is not a glamorous job, it will not expand my career in any way (except possibly to give me story ideas), but it pays about 15 dollars a freaking hour and I can have as many hours as I want. I chose to work at night so that if I DO have things to do during the day from time to time, like hanging out with Grandma and reading and writing that I can handle that if need be. Oh, the job is at an Alzheimer's home. It's not a nursing home, thank goodness, but an assisted living place. I was only going through the motions by applying there but when they offered me that money I signed on. The night shift is also the easiest one it would seem-- most of the 30 residents sleep most of the time and I will be tidying and laundering and tooling around in the kitchen for the duration. Bethany, one of the girls I now live with, used to work there and told me that once the checklist is done for the night that one has the freedom to pretty much do whatever, so this means much reading and writing may also be accomplished at work! HUZZAH. It's been a long time since I had this kind of money coming in (with nearly NO living expenses to pay-- only gas and coffee, really-- and aren't they the same thing? oh, and netflix. netflix which is necessary due to the theatre here which makes me very, very sad). This is going to be wonderful.

I may also get a part-time weekend job at the tiny airport here. I am hoping I get it, in fact, because the benefits include FREE FLIGHTS. Fingers crossed, though not expectant.

ANYWAY, this marvelous new development has allowed me to breathe and get incredibly excited for the future.

REVISED PLAN:
Money: MAKE ALOT OF IT. PAY OFF DEMANDING DEBT, GET A HANDLE ON GENERAL DEBT, GET A SAVINGS AMOUNT GOING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THREE YEARS! Get a MAC. Take care of Ringo, for he has done well, faithful servant.

Writing: The main purpose of my lack of grad school attendance right now. Write short stories, adapt F&Z, complete Black River script (AND START SENDING IT OUT FOR GOD'S SAKE), complete all-new Western script based on ND and continue to chip away at Clara.

Self: Once getting paycheck, join the gym here. Go all the darn time and drop 2 dress sizes before I leave ND. Doable. Fiddle with German a bit. Continue to try to learn songs on guitar. Find appropriate church. Volunteer. Continue reading obsession (damn you goodreads.com!!!! you're ruining my life!!!). At presend my ADD/OCD self is reading 11 books. Agkljlafjl.

Best of all, now that I'm working my head is full of travel plans. ND really truly does not have much to offer in the way of variety and things to see, however it IS conveniently located, and I have never been this far north. Over my duration here, I plan on going to see The Black Hills, Mt. Rushmore, DEADWOOD(!!), Minneapolis, Custer's Last Stand, and returning to Missoula, where I did not get to spend much time when I passed through there (somewhere between Rocky Mountains DEATH pass and Ghost Town DEATH snow hill). All of those are quite close. There is also CANADA to consider. I don't really feel like exploring the place, but it'd be silly to be so close to another country and not pop in for a look-see and a passport stamp. IF they stamp your passport there... I'm also so in love with hostels that I can't wait to check into another one.

After all this, all this wonderful new madness, I will leave this great state and hang out in Ventura for the remainder of the fall and then drive to Texas for Christmas. After that, my friends, I'm afraid it will be nothing but New York City for me. YES. YES. YES. With the money I will have and the debt I will be out from under, it will be a spring in MY CITY for me. For the summer, I'm not sure, I thought of Ashland today, which is where the Oregon Shakespeare Festival happens every summer. It'd be amazing to be present for that.

But we'll see. I may be putting the cart before the horse. Or hearse. hahaha.

I am not accustomed to so large a snow.

I sit here in a recliner with a heavy blanket covering me as well as an assortment of ridiuclous, tiny kittens. My friend Amanda is asleep on one side of the room and Grandma, upon returning to bed, has also gone to sleep. In the middle of the room is a huge set of windows that allows me to see a good deal outside, and most of what I see is WHITE. And not just white Christmas white, but desert storm white. As in, this is what you see in the movies before movie characters get lost or stuck and DIE. The wind is blowing INTENSELY, and the snow is so thick that I can't see to the other side of the backyard. If you were out in this, in a field somewhere, you probably, literally could not see your hand in front of your face. I've seen snow since I've been here, however this is surreal stuff.

I'll write about the trip up here sometime, I took a pretty decent log of all things in my notebook, but so much time is passed it's weird to think about catching up. Anyway, the trip was good for me. I'm glad I decided to do it that way, even if it was occasionally terrifying and I don't especially reccommend it to girls traveling alone. Ultimately it was really empowering-- to stop where I wanted and to not have to worry for a second about other passengers. I like traveling with people, it's nice to share the experience with someone (and several times on the trip I was sad that I had no one to "ooh" and "awww" with over the sights), however whenever I have had travel companions in the past I've been very concerned about their level of comfort or interest that the trip often ends up being mildly dissatisfying. But this was good. I felt happy. I felt like I could take on anything. I felt probably the best I've felt in a long time. Definitely reaffirmed my desire to travel, and after staying in hostel after hostel and finding most places with ease, I can't seem to understand why I hadn't done all this before. THIS IS WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING. And it's what I think I will try to do at every spare moment with any spare dollar. Once I have a spare dollar.

North Dakota is a very interesting place. I really like it. It suits my present western phase. I think it will be fairly easy for me to write Westerns here (IE finish the one I started and write another one... the next one I want to write must be set here). I looked it up and only about 10 movies have been set in North Dakota, one of them being Leprechaun and another being Fargo, which only has about two scenes set in Fargo itself. I find this a bit odd. I think I shall be the one to change this. Also, the people here are definitely interesting, and the family I'm staying with has been here for so many years that they know everyone's story. Writing material. I hope I do the right thing with it.

The actual town I'm living in is called South Heart. It has a population of about 300, give or take a few. It's mostly neighborhoods situated on the Heart River, a pretty little river that twists and bends. Railroad tracks go straight through the town (making directions to one house or another dependent upon said house's location in relation to the tracks-- IE on the "other side of the tracks"). There's a grain mill, no longer in use, mostly, by the tracks. There's a golf course (apparently this is of note and people do come from out of town to use it in the summer), a post office, a bank that's open till 12, a gas station, a defunct cafe, a small Catholic church with a little Prieslet parish, and the famed "I Don't Know Bar." Girls do not go to this bar, generally. In one corner of the town there's a field where mobile homes have congregated. These are the oil field workers trying to make due. There has been such an oil boom nearby that all of the towns are packed with oil workers, they cannot build housing quickly enough to accomodate them.

The town is sort of surrounded by an odd dirt road that goes back, circles round this desperate, sad area of fallen trees, and passes by a beautiful farm. The Heart River passes through this farm also, giving it an incredibly idyllic feeling. When I passed by it everything in it was terribly still, including the river, giving the impression that no one actually lived there.

There's one cop here. Her name is Linda. She patrols in the afternoon when the kids get out of school just to make sure no one is speeding. However apparently she doesn't have the authority to technically write out a ticket (She has to go through the county authorities), so she mainly just tries to seem threatening. Everyone here generally considers her a joke. I wish I could write something about her but it'd be too similiar to Fargo.

Dickinson is the town closest, and where the focal point of the boom is. It's population is about 3-4,000, but so many people are moving there that it's just exploding. People here are saying it will triple in size within the next two years or so. Aside from the oil, the main draw of Dickinson is the college there. It's a state college... I'm not sure what especially it's known for, though apparently the main way the place snags students is through their athletic teams. Most young people out and about seem to belong to some sports team or another. The college itself is very pretty, made up of red brick with old signs and fences, reminds me of a mini UCLA except with a good deal of age. In Dickinson there are little churches everywhere (only one big church that I've seen, which is a Catholic church of course). The other attraction seems to be the DINO museum, which is closed half the year. I can't wait to investigate THAT (actually I saw many signs for various dino museums as I made my way into North Dakota... I wonder why that's a thing out here).

Everyone here has the good ole Marge-from-Fargo accent, noticable especially when the word "bag" is used. It always comes out "beyg."

I've been applying for jobs alot this week. It looks like all of the nicer ones have been snatched up lately, so I guess I'll have to take a crappy one for awhile. I'm OK with that so long as I'm being paid well, which I think I will be. Everyone is hiring here. It's the surreal opposite of California. EVERYWHERE you go there is a huge NOW HIRING sign, promises of sign-on bonuses, the whole shebang. It's crazy. So basically if I get sick of one job I can hop to another one lickity split. I actually really want to try factory work-- horrible sounding, of course, with 12-hour shifts, God help me, but the pay is great and the hours... there's so many of them. I don't know how long I could handle that mentally, but it'd be very interesting to try for awhile.

In the meantime Grandma and I get along great, despite the fact that the whole family is now in one house due to Grandma's apartment flooding (a temporary arrangement). Thankfully she has a sweet demeanor for one suffering with dementia and is almost always cheery (unless she's hungry). Her attention span lasts about one minute, however from time to time she'll bring up old stories. Yesterday she spoke about growing up and wanting to beat her older brother Harlan home from school. She cut through a field in order to cut him off, but it was incredibly muddy and she actually got completely stuck in it and had to stay there until her uncle came looking for her and fished her out.

There are also kittens on hand!! And horses! Horses that I will ride once the snows have gone. A few nights ago Amanda and I heard a thudding noise and went upstairs to investigate. Turns out one of the little kittens (I think they're about 2-3 weeks) had, we think, climbed on a chair then fallen and face-planted. We walked into a room full of blood. The kitten, heavily bleeding from its mouth, had stumbled around the room, dripping everywhere. I had no idea that so small a creature could contain that much blood. I thought for sure it was dead, but I rushed it to the sink and cleaned it off and made it be still for a few minutes (it had aggravated its condition by scratching at itself), and finally it seemed to breathe ok. After Amanda finished cleaning up all the blood I gave the kitten back to it's mother and I started to remember that scene in the cartoon 101 Dalmations when they save Lucky. That's kind of what it felt like, rubbing the little one so that it might wake up. Now the little bugger has one eye swollen shut and it's tooth out of place, but it's alive and once again every bit as curious and suicidal as its bretheren.

Annnnnd now Amanda is showing Grandma her foot and insisting it is a kitten. Grandma (patting it): "This one isn't as soft as the others..." There are waffles upstairs. The snow is still raging outside. My legs are as dry as the sahara. Such is life in North Dakota.

Five days and the adventure begins.


WHAT.

I am so furiously sick of being sad all of the goddamn time. It needs to stop. the crying, the turmoil, the self pity. not a way to function. not a way to be. a few weeks ago i was driving into LA and i was thinking about this and the need to affirm a feeling without letting it take over your being and suddenly i said to myself, self, just because you are profoundly sad does not mean your sadness is profound. this is my new motto. but i do wish the being profoundly sad thing would cease.

i wish i had meds.

and his heart was going like mad and yes i said yes i will yes

Remember this day in history, for it is the one in which I single handedly conquered Mr. James Joyce's odyssey. Ulysses is a remarkable, changing, challenging thing to read (the most challenging thing I've ever read), but right now all I can think about is how ugly and dirty it made me feel. Yes, even with that bit of hope at the end.