At work this afternoon, I went out into the lobby and took a little nap, lying on the bench by the window. Just as I dozed off, a whole bunch of people started talking out there, and delivery people started making deliveries, and banging carts around and all that. I incorporated everything that was happening into my little dream, which I don’t remember, but it had something to do with spaceships.

Oh yeah. . .AND I got offered a new position today. It seems that I’ve been doing a good enough job at filling in with this one department that they want me to work with them now. This is an especially good thing, because one of my friends (who’s in her sixties, but will always think of herself as thirty-two) is the supervisor, and I’d be working with her. And two or three other cool people. Yay!

My favorite record store is Everyday Music. We went there last night, and I found Ali G, the new Menomena CD, and an anime DVD called “Grave of the Fireflies”, which promises to be beautiful and tragic. I’ll letcha know.

In case you didn’t know, I grew up in Yakima, Washington. It’s a very isolated town in the middle of Washington. People who live there may tell you that “well, it’s a good place to raise kids” or whatever, but I was a kid growing up there, and I feel like it was a difficult place, particularly compared to the city in which I was born.

It’s long been one of the drug hubs of the entire nation, and that’s especially astounding when you consider that fact per capita. I used to have a little Honda CRX when I lived there, and I’d always leave the doors unlocked, because otherwise the windows would get smashed out by drug addicts looking for things to steal. It used to get rummaged through almost every single night. In fact, I was thrilled on the rare occasions when I’d go outside in the morning and NOT find the glove compartment open, the seats pushed forward, the carpet pulled up, the little storage hatch open, and the hatchback popped open. Very often, I’d find that all of those things had been done. Seriously; Yakima’s a shit-hole (and I don’t normally throw terms like that around, either), and I hated living there.

A friend of mine saw this a couple of days ago, in McSweeney’s, and e-mailed it to me. I had to laugh. I wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Yakima is now the meth capital of Central Washington. It’s been called “Crackima” for ages, since the 80′s, when crack was the Thing to Do. Even the mayor’s son got busted for using and selling it, back in the day.

Can I just say how much life has improved since I moved to Portland? It really feels like I’ve lived two entirely separate lives, even though Portland is (I’ve HEARD) the meth capital of the whole Pacific Northwest. I will always appreciate where I am now, and how much I enjoy life now, because I spent so many years wondering why life was even worth living.

Books saved my life; “The Little Prince” came along just when I needed it. Movies saved my life; “My Dinner With Andre” and “Mindwalk” came along just when I needed them. My piano saved my life. My guitar saved my life.

Glad to be outta there, Yakima. Good riddance.