— tapioca world tour

Been listening to Modest Mouse’s “Gravity rides everything” and Mana’s “No voy a ser tu esclavo” on repeat like a shamelessly lame eighth grade girl. Had an anxiety dream about gender roles in video production last night. I fought off comments from male crew members that I should be a makeup artist, or an actress, or something less technical. “No!” I yelled. “I wanna shoot! I’m gonna shoot video!” Right, I don’t have any hangups about this topic or anything…

Last night we ate dinner at this place called the Liberty Bar. Part of its appeal is that it’s an old house that’s leaning sideways, literally about to fall over. The food was amazing, and the waiter was funny. Afterwards we drove around downtown San Antonio and J. showed me the church where she’s to be married in a few months. She’s 25 with a good job and a great guy and a smart plan, a very pretty engagement ring and alot of other mid-20s friends in Texas who are engaged. Made me think about how urban, northeastern life is so different, at least in terms of advocating individualism, more personal agendas, less traditionally domestic expectations for life. It’s neither good nor bad, it’s just different — way different — from Texas, where the highways are wide and the air conditioning is always on and people much younger than me are buying houses and having children. Whoa! I feel an urge to run away to Europe coming on…

It was a weird dream night last night: first, J. woke up at 3a from a scary dream screaming, “Oh God no! Get away! Ahhhhh!” which, por supuesto, was a bit terrifying. I busted into her room to fight off the bad guys, but they were only in her head.

Then I went to sleep and dreampt that there was this group of people I either worked with or went to university with, and there was a comic book that was hugely popular, the text of which was based on pieces of fictional dialogue that had been submitted by children to narrate the story. Anyway, the story told of a vortex, or another world — much like Narnia — and I for some reason had acquired a copy of the draft of the next book, which I brought to a pool and showed all my coworkers. As they were eagerly reading it, someone tattoo’d things on either of my arms. I didn’t really realize this was happening until it was over: they’d tatto’d a vented window on one upper arm and a door on the other. “You have to have a way to get in as well as get out,” was the explanation when I asked. They were referring to the other world in the story. I looked in the mirror and freaked out because the tattoos were large and not that well done, and I looked like a huge punk with them. “How can I ever be taken seriously as a professional now?” I thought. “I already look 14, I already have a nosering and wear weird clothes — now with this ink all over me I’m really doomed.”

And then I slept past noon and finally woke up.
Had a long conversation late last night with a dude I haven’t met. We compared notes on Neruda and politics. It was refreshing.

And now it’s time to eat a yogurt parfait and swim in the GORGEOUS, HUGE POOL in J.’s apartment complex, then in a few hours work out in the GORGEOUS, HUGE GYM that’s also in J.’s apartment complex. Aint got much to complain about, yeehaw.