19 April 2002 ~ Seattle, homeless guys, and I love Olympia...

Wednesday morning, getting ready to go to Seattle. Stopped at Otto's for an americano first. Matthew said: "You're taking the transit bus, right, not the Greyhound? I love that two-hour ride on the transit... So much time to just sit and read and listen in on weird conversations."

That settles it. I'm making dinner for this man. Long bus rides? Reading? Weird conversations? You know, Olympia's full of delightfully interesting freaks, but very few who actually take joy in such mundane occurrences. Too bad I don't have the guts to ask him out.

I made it to Seattle by one. I bought a phone card and a pack of cigarettes; the woman charged me $4.99 for a pack of cigarettes and a $10 phone card. I don't know how the hell that worked, but I left quickly. Then, took the #39 pretty much as far as it went, and then the #106 pretty much as far as it went, and then walked a little ways... Slipped a note into the screen-door of the house Neil used to live in: "I'm looking for my friends who used to live here; I lost touch with them last October, and I was wondering if you have any idea how I could contact them... Please call me or email... ~Helena." And took the #106 ALL the way back down the hill... What a lonely time, that escapade. I knew Neil wouldn't be waiting for me at the top. I knew nobody would be at the house. I did know that the house was ALL the way on top of the hill. I knew I'd have nobody to talk to on the way up. I sang to myself most of the way.

Called Brian from downtown. We met on Broadway and had something called Pho' (Brian pronounced it "Fuh!" with a great deal of emphasis) for dinner: it's kind of like Top Ramen, only REALLY GOOD. We spent much of the night wandering around, and then chatting about music and school and movies and suchlike at his apartment on First Hill. Come morning (and NO, I did NOT "fuck him," for all of you who asked, you nasty people... The thought didn't enter my mind), Brian poked at my hair to wake me up, and I went home on the transit busses.

An appointment with my professor at 2.00 on Thursday. We just chatted. Not about anything in particular. We talked about my project, and we talked about the difference between fiction and non-fiction, and we talked about non-white people, and we talked about... hell, what DIDN'T we talk about? We talked about professional studentism, too; having been one once, he appeared to be trying to talk me out of livin' that particular lifestyle. I told him not to worry. I didn't tell him he looks like Pan, but he does.

Was going to nap until my appointment in the Writing Center at six, but I ran into Etna and helped her carry some stuff to her room. Then I got sidetracked doing something else entirely. No nap.

Appointment in the Writing Center. Nothing happened. Ate some dinner.

Met two homeless guys outside. They took Louise and I out to the forest, where we tried unsuccessfully to make a bonfire out of wet sticks. They were really weird, weird kids. They thought they were prophets. One of them licked Louise's margarine tub. The other one kept telling everybody how much he loved them, and how beautiful they were. The two guys kept embracing each other, although I'm 90% sure they weren't gay. And the first guy -- the one who licked the margarine -- looked so much like Neil that it was terrifying. Except for the eyes. Nobody can beat Neil's eyes for crazed intensity. This dude's were just crazed. But, what the hell; Louise and I made them some spaghetti and let them sleep in our lounge anyway. By morning, I'd begun to regret that decision... Not any reason in particular, just... I don't know. By night, they'd seemed fascinating. By daylight, the idea of those two guys gave me the heebie-jeebies. Oh well. They returned the blankets I'd lent them, and were on their way to spread their prophecy of peace, love, and mushrooms.

Realized, this morning, just before the guys left, that one of them had fucked up something he'd said the night before. It was just a very, very minor slip, but a terribly incriminating one. He did something very bad to somebody -- to a friend of mine. At that moment, I wanted those guys GONE. I'm glad they left quickly.

Went to the Olympia Arts Walk in the afternoon. Had lunch with Matthew (it wasn't really "lunch with Matthew," exactly... He was just having a sandwich before he had to work...), and then spent the rest of the evening watching protesters, artists, and Jesus-people wander around protesting, making art, and... well, the Jesus-people weren't really doing anything. It was a lot like a county fair, only without rides or hicks, but with protesters instead. I love Olympia so much.

It's official; I have to leave school for the summer. They won't give me the money to take classes then. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't very well stay here with no apartment, no job, and no financial aid. Of course, I can't very well go back to Binghamton with all my stuff, either. I got an invitation to work for a place up in Alaska for the summer, but, same deal: how the hell would I get my stuff there? Ohhh, gahd, moving sucks so much...

Am feeling kind of restless and tired; time to sign off now...

~Helena*