Home And Some Stats

I made it back to our place in Brisbane Monday afternoon. When my head finally hit the pillow, everything from the previous three weeks rushed through my head in the ninety seconds before I fell asleep. To say I need a rest after my vacation is not telling the entire story.

Before I left for the States, I had concerns about whether the story of mine I want to tell was worthy of telling. I found and took to heart every reason I could find to help deem it an unworthy tale. And this usually happened in the early part of the morning while everyone slept. Not a good time for certain thoughts.

But I'm focused. And my plan involves finally writing without thinking. Writing what I know. And, most important to me, telling a story that just might be able to help if only a couple of people realize they're not alone. I also wouldn't mind a best seller. The conundrums of the mind.

In addition to writing, I will research agents and publishers. Despite the fact that people in the business, suggested I might want to tighten up about fifty or so of my already-written pages and shop it around. "No way," I said to them, confident that I would bust out the book to its completion, then search. Well, about two weeks ago I changed my mind. With an un-finished manuscript, I will spend some time poking agents. Someone should know I'm working on this, whether they want it, lest someone else, with a similar story, beats me to it.

I had many great dinners with many great people. I even tasted the wonderful flavor of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. There's little to nothing like it where alcohol is concerned. And I spent a few of the best days I've had with my mom ever, despite her, as she calls it, "loopiness." I return, as well, knowing the future's been here this whole time and that I've been wasting it till now. It's time to finally start trying while being unafraid to fail.

I also went to Powell's bookstore. It has to be one of the most magical places in the world. After meeting a friend and basketball teammate from high school at its cafe, Alia and I took to our own adventure throughout the building. A city of books, it's dubbed. Taking up a city block, Powell's has a few floors and rooms divided by subject and given colors as names. I perused the gay book section before heading to the Lincoln section, where I picked up two books to buy. And then I decided to look for a memoir, so I went back to the front to study the massive key that explained where everything was.

"Can I help you?" a short, slim, blond woman in her early-to-mid 40s who looked ten years older than she was interrupted my concentration.

"Yeah," I said without turning fully around to face her because I was still somewhat in awe of the six-column key in the sky. "I'm looking for your memoirs but don't see them up there."

"We organize memoirs by subject matter," she said with a tone that suggested I was the stupid one. "What's it about?"

I suddenly forgot, because my memoir (you know, the one that's not quite finished yet) popped into my head. I wondered where they'd put mine.

"Okay, how about a memoir by someone with her own ambiguous race issues, no father, grew up on welfare, an alcoholic mother. Oh and who's gay?"

"Social sciences, gay studies." She paused. "Maybe African American." Nice. Cross-referenced.

I gave her the name of the previous author and didn't end up buying the book. One day.

Alia and I left. I love Portland.

• Slept in six different places
• Flew six airlines
• Visited four cities
• Acquired five books
• Saw the original manuscript of Jack Kerouac's On the Road
• Saw Mariel Hemingway
• Sipped absinthe
• Ate buffalo wings! Twice!

There's gotta be more. But for now, this is it. I'm glad I went. I'm happier I'm back.