what aisle did you find your serenity in?

Nobody comments on my blog. I want to know why. Is that because no one reads it?

It's pretty hot in the apartment due to the lack of air conditioning. It's like Grace Street all over again. Minus the hookers.

This morning I worked at Gap for a little bit. I love it. I can't wait to go back. I also taught a yoga class at Beaverton. This morning when I went into Gap, a fellow employee said, "Oh my gosh, did you teach my yoga class yesterday?" My days seem to run together since I don't do that much other than teach yoga and go to the gym, but I figured that I probably did teach his yoga class. I thought about it and remembered that I did teach a class yesterday. A big one. 45 people. Classes at that location are always big. 

I don't mind the apartment being hot except for when I am trying to sleep. We can't sleep with the window in the bedroom open either because between the max going by and drunken bums shouting at each other (or nothing at all, they do that sometimes too) it is way too loud. I will have to get creative here. 

Today I had a cookie and french fries from Wendy's. I had forgotten how delicious Wendy's french fries are. The cookie was very sugary. 

The apartment is a mess. In my eyes, at least. I am quite anal about the cleanliness of my home. The other night I was laying in bed and decided that I couldn't sleep until I got up and cleaned the bathroom. So I did. And then Keith trimmed his beard and got tiny hairs in the sink again. And Simon immediately pooped in his litter box moments after I changed it. Boys.

I am tired. I think I will put a movie in and lay in bed. Or on the bed, since it's too hot to lay in it. Not that I'm complaining, I have been sick of the cold for quite some time. This was the first summery weekend we've had and I loved it.

Sasquatch Festival is next Sunday. Jane's Addiction, TV on the Radio, Nine Inch Nails. Oh. My. God. Two of my favorite bands in the same day. I don't think I can handle it. I love Portland.

The max for whatever reason has random poetry posted, and I saw this poem by Alison Luterman. It's called I Confess. And I confess, I love it. 

I stalked her

in the grocery store: her crown

of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip,

her erect bearing, radiating tenderness,

watching

the way she placed yogurt and avocados in her  basket,

beaming peace like the North Star.

I wanted to ask, “What aisle did you find

your serenity in, do you know

how to be married for fifty years or how to live alone,

excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to possess

some knowledge that makes the earth turn and burn on its axis—“

But we don’t request such things from strangers

nowadays. So I said, “I love your hair.”