Rain or shine

I stood on the levee on Saturday afternoon working on a music video; standing in as the upright bass player. The song was about New Orleans and how it isn't easy to leave. I was wearing a black suit in the summer sun, dripping sweat and listening to the song repeat as we did multiple takes. I agreed with the lyrics as I swayed with the bass, the pink bow that was clipped to my tie blowing in the gentle breeze, my long hair blowing across my face as I looked at the horizon through my dark glasses.

Her pink hair was so vibrant as she stood in front of me, her voice soft as she played along with her own music. My mind and eyes drifted as I plucked at the strings, appreciating that she'd put into words the way I feel about New Orleans. A beautiful group of colorful people danced and played behind us around an old Thunderbird and everyone agreed; it was a good day.


I'm looking toward the future, trying to plan the next really big adventure. Somehow, this moment feels like the start of it.

In unrelated news, my neighbors think I'm strange because I always open my windows and doors when it rains:

Time to wake

I went to the doctor yesterday and got a refill for the medication I take for insomnia. I'm always reluctant to take anything, but after long periods of sleepless nights, I'll relent. My doctor is a friendly man, we talk about photography and he asks my advice about technical thing. We are on a first name basis and when he calls me, that's all he uses. He'd asked me which of the two things we'd tried last year had worked the best and I told him so he refilled my prescription and I was on my way.

I went home and planned on spending the day being productive, getting everything that I needed done before laying down into bed with a movie. I took half the dose prescribed and slowly I started to find sleep.

I was woken with the realization that I hadn't shut off my phone. It rang and I missed it. It rang again and I reached for it. It was one of the few people that I'd answer the phone for at that point and I knew something must be wrong.

"I don't know where I am" she said after I said hello.

She went on to explain that someone had slipped something into her drink and that she didn't know where she was and couldn't drive. She told me she needed my help.

I dressed quickly, still a little uneven from the pills I'd taken to sleep, working against their purpose of putting me back down. I walked slowly down the stairs, my equilibrium slowly returning to me as I hit the humid night and moved along the concrete as quickly as I could.

"The long light" was the only landmark she gave me but I was certain I knew what that meant. I wandered to Toulouse, which has the light I've often complained about, and found her truck there, sitting still in the night. I peered through the glass as she was draped over the seat.

She was surprised to see me. Whatever she'd been slipped was making it really hard for her to pull it together. I got her into the passenger seat and pulled her car off the street and into the parking garage on the next block.

I got her out and started walking her toward my apartment, telling her that she could call her boyfriend and tell him to come there and get her. She was confused as to where we were going or how we'd gotten that far and I had to stop more than once along the way to tell her what was happening and get us off the streets, which aren't always a safe place at night.

We got about a block from my house when a police office friend of mine who owns a bar up the road stopped and asked if everything was ok. I told it was and that we were meeting her ride. He asked where her ride was and when it would be there and it pulled up just then.

I'd been fighting back the effect of the sleep meds, pushing myself into overdrive in order to make sure she was safe and I felt surreal as I loaded her into her boyfriends car, who barely looked at me when i did. I handed him the valet ticket and struggled to give the street names where it was located through the descending cloud. I closed the door and he left quickly, followed by the police offices truck and I walked the last block home by myself.

I walk quickly, and this was no exception. My mind wandered and I looked around constantly to be certain I hadn't overlooked anyone following me in the darkness down a street that can often be dangerous. I picked out the door key before I hit the steps and turned to make sure no one followed me into the stairwell before slipping it into the lock. I closed the door behind me when I was safely inside and made sure it was locked.

I pulled off my shirt and climbed the uneven stairs, breathing a little heavily as I approached the top. I took off my shoes at the top of the stairs, not bothering to line them up as I normally would. I felt the cool air radiating from my office and so I went there first, it being the coldest room in the house. I finished getting undressed, pulled on a pair of shorts and got into bed, just the way I'd been before I got the phone call. The sleep medication made me doubt for a moment that I'd ever let the bed, made me think that the entire thing had been a dream. I reached for my phone to see if it had been but I'd left it in my office and instead I gave into sleep.

La pluie

I've had a bit of insomnia again lately. Lot's of endless nights and punctuated sleep, all caused by my ceaseless mind. I wake to the slightest sounds; my phone vibrating in the same room will wake me so I've taken to leaving it in the next. I'm tired and can see it in my face right now.

I try and nap here and there, but I'm terrible at it. The closest I come Is laying still when the afternoon rain comes. When I see the dark clouds start rolling in, I feel drawn to my bed the way a normal person would when the lights go out over the city at night.

This afternoon Elly moved her things into her new apartment and I went to help her put together her furniture so she could sleep there tonight. The afternoon rain hung over head as I walked back to my own apartment, which was empty and quiet and all mine once again. I climbed the stairs and opened the french doors in my bedroom as I pulled my damp shirt overhead and used it to mop my face.

I climbed into my bed, the sheets having been freshly washed earlier that morning (clean sheets are one of my favorite things) and laid across it diagonally. I closed my eyes until i heard the rain hitting the iron that laces all the buildings around me and then I opened them again. I didn't sleep, but I got as close as I might come, thanks to the rain.

I looked over at her in the dark, the light from the stage softly illuminating her face and she looked beautiful. She looked back at me just as I was thinking that and she smiled.

I have this hope that for once everything should be as simple as that, but it never is, is it?

Afternoon rain makes me happy

tourist in my own life

I hadn't expected to come back to New Orleans so soon. My adventure in Montreal was supposed to have taken up my summer and I said goodbye before I left. I'm back now, having realized quickly that Montreal wasn't the place for me, that the offer wasn't a good fit, that it would just be a vacation, a change of scenery for the summer.I don't mind a change of scenery, mind you, but if I'm going to take a vacation, there are other places I'd rather be.

I returned from Montreal without telling many people I was coming home because I'd only just left. I also wanted to come back into my life quietly while I decided what to do next. I wanted an idea in mind before I started getting the questions, wanted the answer before people even asked.

I've come home, but having said my goodbyes before and knowing that I'll be leaving again soon has made me feel like a tourist in my own life. I sleep in my familiar bed, see the familiar faces, got to the familiar places, but it all seems a little strange to me. It was easy being a stranger in a strange land, but it's difficult to be one in someplace so familiar.

I've a house guest here at the moment and having here here has made it difficult for me in the fact that I feel like I'm sharing this space that I'm used to occupying alone, but it's all so temporary because she'll be gone soon too. She sleeps away the day because she works nights and I keep to my office and bedroom to let her, making me feel even more like a visitor here. I enjoy her company, but I need my own life back for a moment so I can relax, breathe, figure out what next, where next.

That's what I'll do too; relax, breathe, figure out what next, where next. That's what I always do. This isn't the first time I've been a stranger in any land; strange or familiar. Given my wanderlust, it won't be the last either.

Hello again, New Orleans

I'm home, for the moment.

The deal I was offered in Montreal wasn't good enough for me to stay or even go back to. I enjoyed my time there well enough, but it isn't home, isn't the place for me.

One of my favorite people in the world came back into town last night. She and her husband are here for a wedding and he was attending the bachelor party so she spent the night wandering the quarter with me.

It was a quiet night in the French Quarter all in all, so we left the pub after a long talk and found a discarded croquet set at the curb. We played in the streets through the quarter and into the marigny. We talked and we walked before both of us finally lost our balls, but we carried our mallets for the rest of the night. We watched the sun come up and found out that we’d long outlasted the bachelor party. It was a good night.

It feels like every day in New Orleans is a story worth writing about, but I haven't had the time while playing catch-up to put it all down. I've got a few of them in my head that I need to tell though, so I'll be doing that soon....