Romance; two good days, with today spent out and about at Starbucks and the library

Romance is defined by the people involved, of course—their tastes, weaknesses, personalities—but in mine own relationship few things are more romantic than (in a conversation about using one of the Zunes for a day):

Me:...well I wouldn't want to be spoiled or anything.
Devon: When are you ever not spoiled?

Because from him to me, that's the purest and sweetest expression of love.

Anyhow. The good news is I've been better these last two days. I know this is ironic coming on the heels of an update about how depressed I am, but it's nonetheless true. Yesterday I cleaned the room, and was therefore productive and mostly content. Today Devon dropped me off downtown for a bit, and it was wonderful. It was, in fact, almost exactly what I was aiming for in this post about planning to get out and about more often: "careful, short hours spent around books, coffee," ... no trees because it was temperamental and chilly out, but I'm sure you follow. I went to Starbucks for a soy mocha (kaimetso, did I mention that I drink soy now? Your mention of it a bit ago convinced me to finally give it a try, and not only does it fail to upset my tummy it also has a wonderful texture and tastes delicious—and silly as it is I feel better now that I'm back to a froufrou drink with my "tall soy mocha" and yes I know I'm shallow) and then walked the few blocks to the library; I penned a book review which I should type up soon, jotted down a to-read list out of Little Red Riding Hood Uncloaked, and did a bit of book browsing followed by reading on fairy tales and related subjects.

I found a chair at the library (up on the second floor, although next time I'm there I shall poke around to see if it has a twin somewhere not in the middle of things) that I would have kidnapped if I could have done so covertly. It was asymmetrical and plush, a comfortable and almost handsome beast with an oversized swooping shell back. The asymmetry made it possible to curl up against one side or lean an arm against the other: a chair of a dozen positions, of never growing stiff or bored; a chair of great comfort. I took my shoes off and snuggled up and was at home there—a great place for some quality reading. It's a pity I would have been rather conspicuous lugging it down the stairs, or it would be home with me now. (Where we'd put it is anyone's guess.)

I was at some point supposed to call Devon and tell him I was ready to be picked up; instead I got engrossed in my reading and lost track of time, so he just came down and found me himself. There's something joyful about glancing up to see someone you recognize—and love. We went out to dinner afterward, because Thursday is our weekly date night. Later in the evening we watched Picnic at Hanging Rock, which I loved (though Devon found it only "okay").

Today I would have been content just to get out of the house, drink my coffee and check out the book I had on hold and go to dinner with the boy, and that's the secret I think: to do something—a little something, preferable a something which doesn't require much brain or skill so that I can feel accomplished without too high a chance of failure; if the smarts and skill chose to follow, all the better. It can be a step out of the depression, and may even lead to good things. I know that to most "normal" people this sounds obvious, the common and poor piece of advice to snap out of it—but you have to remember that depression is not logical and rarely sees any potential for positive change. It's hard to force yourself to try something else, to even think about trying something else. Thus the monotony of hopelessness and uselessness.

Deciding to try something else isn't the end of the battle, either: these last few days could have easily collapsed around me (too clumsy to clean, too unmotivated by lack of result...; too unmotivated to get dressed and moving, to overwhelmed to remain in public...) and I did collapse upon returning this evening—my back hurts and I'm exhausted and slow and stupid. Tomorrow I'll spend all day in bed, trying not to get angry at myself if I don't have the strength to type up that review. But we get the point—I get the point, because writing this is mostly a reminder to my own self not to get swept away by one upturn and then crash hard if/when it doesn't continue.

It's not perfect. It's not a promise. But it has been a pair of good days, and today in particular was great—and that is wonderful.

Book Review: High Voltage Tattoo by Kat Von D, photography by Lionel Deluy

Title: High Voltage Tattoo
Author: Kat Von D
Photographer: Lionel Deluy
Published: New York: Collins Design, 2009
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 175
Total Page Count: 86,014
Text Number: 247
Read Because: interest in Kat Von D after watching LA Ink, borrowed from the library
Short Review: High Voltage Tattoo is a beautiful book. Full gloss and full color, it forgoes the usual style of a biography for something closer to a coffee table book. Sometimes this tends towards excess: Deluy's crisp photos are sometimes Hollywood-slick (and Photoshopped), and the typography occasionally trades readability in for beauty. On the whole the book is a visual delight, lush and luxurious—but imperfect.

Similarly, High Voltage Tattoo's content indulges but never quite surpasses expectations. Putting full paragraphs to things only summarized or glimpsed in the show LA Ink provides a more intimate look into Kat's art, and a biography and list of inspirations, along with multiple details scattered throughout the book (the highlight may be a directory of Kat's own tattoos), gives a small glimpse into Kat herself. Fans will find an intriguing amount of detail and background information to appreciate. But the writing style leaves something to be desired, and sections on Kat's body of tattoo work (portraits, sleeves, lettering, etc.) seem brief. High Voltage Tattoo doesn't quite go above and beyond: it's thoughtful, beautiful, and a priveledge to read for those intrigued by Kat Von D and her art, but it feels short and fails to offer all the depth that a reader might desire. Nonetheless, I recommend it.

Review posted here on Amazon.com.

Stolen from tabular_rasa: An intriguing first line poetry music

Stolen from tabular_rasa, a meme that I'm actually in love with—and a music meme, no less! This is unusual.

Put your music player on shuffle, and write down the first line of the first twenty songs. Post the poem that results.

Simple, I know, but the results are intriguing—sometimes funny, sometimes unexpectedly deep, but lines tend to find a way to group together rather tellingly. century_eyes: if you're still in search of some ideal-fuel for writing or photo'ing or otherwise creating a story, there's a lot to be found this way—it's making me itch to write, myself. True to form, I cannot leave well alone and took the liberty to skip a few songs and rearrange others, more in the second set than the first (there are two because it's hard to stop with just one). The second is also longer because ... it wanted to be.

The first, pulled off my personal playlist on Zune:

You know my darling I can't stand to sleep alone
The dreams are coming, wild and still
I have worked out every small detail
For those who slept

Doctors have come from distant cities just to see me
C'mon Billie, come to me
I have driven those roads so many times
Well it's three a.m., I'm out here riding again

Seems that I have been held, in some dreaming state
I am in love with you
Just for now
Unknown, talks to unknown

Doing the mess around
Who made up all the rules?
Mother spent ten years sitting by a window (scared if she spoke she would die of a heart attack)
A retinue of moons, of icy moons

In and out on this same path that I followed for years
Hang on, traveling woman
Here's the day you hoped would never come.
I don't mind being alone.

( One more. )

I love the story in the first, which came together all by its onesie (I only had to help with the last line, which initially wanted to be "Hello, boys"—good but not so complete). The second mixes its metaphors a bit, but I love where it gets to—especially "I saw you in my bedroom again last night / I let the beast in too soon," which is begging to find a story to settle in. It meshes so well with all the Kiernan I've been (re)reading that I just can't get it out of my head. Ah, but I blather. It's a fun meme. You should post you less-tortured, potentially more amusing takes on it.