inner thoughts on my outward appearance

the other day at work, one of the dancers approached me, i was alone stage left. 'hi,' she introduced herself, smiling, hello, i said, i'm ilvs, 'you're name is elvis? really? that's so cool,' and proceeded to hem and haw about. .. something. 'you look pretty cool, and i was wondering, well, how do i go about this?' i didn't quite get the i'm hitting on you vibe, so i kept listening, 'well, we are in seattle visiting for a few days,' maybe she's gonna ask me where the gay bar is? 'and well, i'm wondering if you know where we could get some friendly green herb.' (ok, not verbatim, but close) ah ha, pot. she's looking for pot. and they elected her to talk to me because i, out of all the 6 or so stage hands, look like the hook up. what? that is not how i want to be seen in the world, nor is it how i want to be seen. cool, yeah sure maybe. pot dealer? no. i wasn't even wearing patchouli. i laughed it off in the moment, 'uh, actually, i am the wrong person to ask, i wouldn't know where to get it. you're barking up the wrong tree.' i told her i would stealthily ask around but in all seriousness, i wouldn't even know where to begin to ask. so i didn't.
i mean, i guess maybe i have a negative impression of who it is that partakes, (lots of great people smoke pot (i love bob marley, he is exempt)), or rather it's just not part of my world, i can think of maybe one person i hang out with that does. and i have no interest in it. i value marijuana for it's medicinal properties, but for it's fun times? not so much. also why you won't find me downing entire bottles of rubitussin for kicks. i have more personally fulfilling things to do with my time.
then, the next day, my coworker relayed to me that, while talking to a renter in my absence, trying to figure out if i was who they both knew, he, renter, described me as having 80's rocker hair. and that sealed it, she then knew for sure that i was the person in question. hmmmm. 80's rocker. . . pot dealer. . . not sure what to think of this.

on a side note, i have decided to partake in the 'write a novel in november' quest. foolish? maybe. difficult? yes in fact. but by the end of the month, i shall have a 50,000ish word rough draft of what is to be novel #1 of n# of novels. this, unfortunately, coincides with me running out of already written haiku to post. as in, in order to keep posting to reach my goal of 575, i must begin actively writing new ones. i have enlisted the help of 'the haiku handbook' in order to motivate me. all this to say that i am writing a shit ton right now. so, if you're gonna judge me, hopefully with detached observation and an open heart, probs my writing is a better insight, not my drugs and rock n' roll exterior.

the dirt: blaming your shortcomings on drugs only works if you actually do them.

and even then you gotta face the music at some point.

pardon my absence. i have been on drugs. but only for the past two weeks. and really only otc ibuprofen. and when that ran out, my roommate's prescription muscle relaxer. why the muscle relaxer? because it goes so well with the book THE DIRT - confessions of the world's most notorious rock band. that and i got in a car accident and now my spine feels like it got punched in three places. oh, and this happened on the way home from the airport. where was i? you ask. well,

prior to all this, i was in germany, stockholm, germany. it was both phenomenal and tiring. i felt in awe of the place, lost, and in awe of how lost i felt. i rode borrowed bikes along cobblestone streets trying not to see how far i could go without pulling out my tattered hand me down map. i drew buildings and beer bottles. i built up sketchy bikes. i swam in lakes. i was frustrated by my sudden illiteracy and not being able to find a single drinking fountain in all of berlin. i return with an even greater appreciation for population density and friendly usable public transportation. the last two weeks of my journey i dedicated to reading the last 300 pages of DON QUIXOTE. a goal i had set

in the two weeks before that. the full goal was reading all of it, actually, not just the last 300 pages. (which i did eventually manage thank you very much). aside from setting personal literary milestones, i was preparing for my trip by not really doing any kind of research. in fact i was doing so little that it dipped into something that resembles negative planning if there is such a thing and there is cuz that is pretty much what i did. i had 2 contacts, too much free time and a plan that i bailed on last minute.

ilvs, meet europe. europe, meet ilvs. 

uh, it's pronounced 'elvis.'