21 August 2002

Excerpted from an email written today... Because, dammit, I'm not honest enough, particularly not with this journal. Figured I'd post something kinda private that came from the heart... I'm lousy at love letters, but this is at least really, really honest.

What do I want? I want to live here in the Northwest: anywhere but Portland. Preferably close enough to see Mount Rainier. Preferably within walking distance of a body of water. I want to finish my B.A. at Evergreen, because I love it, and every time I set foot on campus, I learn three dozen new things about the world, and become more excited about everything. I want to get that damned degree already, because I'm sick of minimum wage, and I'm sick of not being taken seriously because I'm a 22-year-old kid without a degree or any relevant job experience to ANYTHING I want to do with my life. I want to get certified to teach in the state of Washington. I want to teach, either high school or undergrad English -- probably high school. I don't know if I'll try to get a Masters degree right away; as it is, the situation with teachers here is so lousy that they'd hire me NOW if their policies allowed it. I want to teach kids all the shit they never allowed me to learn in high school, which is: that language is beautiful -- an artform, not a task. I want to replace "Great Expectations" with "Howl," and "Julius Caesar" with "Beautiful Losers." I want to replace all those gahd-awful dull short stories about luckless couples and their luckless children, with joyful, ecstatic works. In the summers, I want to swim in the lakes, and the ocean, and the bays and harbors and rivers. I want to write. I want to sit in coffeehouses and send letters to my penpals. I want to make books. I want to write down everything that happens. I want everything to be recorded in joyful, ecstatic works. I want to study linguistics, and psycholinguistics. I want to learn French -- REALLY learn it -- and German and Russian and Polish and Arabic and Rumanian and Chinese. I want to live in a place that has a lot of windows, and open curtains all the time. I want to have a comfortable futon, and a computer that works, and a stereo, and a TV that doesn't work except to play videos, and Lifetime TV, and Mariners games. I want to buy groceries from local producers and distributors. I want to reuse grocery bags. I want to come home from work, or wherever, and I want you to be inside, and I want you to be playing your guitar, or turning something raucous and strange up to a very high volume. I want you to hear the door open and look up, and say, "Helena!" I want to live near people like Marketa and Eva and Louise and Sandy, and my mom, and your brother. I want to stay up very, very late, giggling and eating junk food and drinking screwdrivers and rum&cokes and things (and what the fuck; I've even found a few beers I kind of like...). I want us both to be adults who don't act our ages, and climb on things we shouldn't climb on. I want your eyes to be the last thing I see before I fall asleep. I want to attend militant little meetings of local herds of hippies, to protest things like U.S. sanctions against [fill in the blank], and use of such an imperialistic, colonialistic, and conformist calendar as the current Gregorian/Julian calendar. I want you to come too; I want us both to make music and books and poems and dances and haircuts and love, in protest of everything that opposes making music and books and love and things. I want to cook you clam chowder and blackberry pies, and I want to eat with you. I want to go out on Sundays and have diner breakfasts in old-school diners. I want to tip the waitresses well. I want to go see all the little indie bands before they get sick of Washington and move off to Portland. I want to see high-brow concerts and performances and lectures of ALL sorts, the like of which I've never really been able to afford. I want not to understand them sometimes, so I have an excuse to ask you what you thought. I want to make cheese sandwiches for homeless people, with Tillamook cheese. I want to sometimes walk into a coffeeshop and find that you're already there, sitting there staring into space, contemplating something profound and blowing smoke out your nose, like you were when I first decided that if you'd ever notice me, I'd probably fall in love with you. I want to have enough money to never be scared of not eating, ever again. And if I make any more money after that, I want to buy the Art Theatre and make sure they never run anything that isn't a freaky art film, ever again. I also want to buy them an espresso machine. I want you to show me this special magic place out on the peninsula. I want to take a ferry to Victoria, just for the hell of it. I want to look at you all the time. I want to look at you, and hear you saying silly words to me, and I want to feel that feeling of wanting to make beautiful things, like novels and drawings and fried chicken. I want my whole life to be a kind of worshipping, and I want you to be with me, I want us to love each other and for us to inspire each other and make each other giggle.

That, of course, is pretty idealistic.

I think I missed a few things. Like, wanting to own the DVDs of Twin Peaks for that unhappy day when my videos die. And like wanting to know how/where the hell Neil is, and making completely sure he's alive and not in jail or an institution.

But that's what I want. I've been thinking about it for a long time.

That's all. Have a nice day, kids.

~Helena*