It was downright cold this morning, after a chilly weekend that followed a few days of record-breaking heat. This is all my fault. I took my winter coats out of my closet too early.
But the fresh-cut grass smells beautifully sweet this morning, and the combination of smell and cool freshness felt like a morning at Camp, which is always nice. Made me a little homesick, though.
This past weekend I made two avocados worth of gorgeous, chunky guacamole* and bought two bags of sprouted grain chips by "Simply Sprouted: Way Better" snacks. Both were surprisingly delicious, and I have just run out of guacamole. Really a shame.
In other news, I have temporarily ceased recycling (I'm quite ashamed of this) because our back door (which leads to the recycling bins) is entirely blocked by inchworms and webbing. Also the recycling, which needs to be carried through the house to be taken out, is covered in inchworms and webbing. Gotta love April under the trees.
*I make it wrong, always, but I love it this way: avocado, minced garlic, salt, and apple cider vinegar to taste.
Showing posts with label footnotes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label footnotes. Show all posts
Monday, April 22, 2013
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
What's going on these days
Possibly this isn't the best time to write, as I am rather exhausted at the moment, but for once I have the inclination and so I will run with it, and keep the reactionary emotionality out of it as best I can.
Work: I'm still doing the with-kids stuff and also still doing some odd jobs (tutoring, babysitting, pet sitting, whatever). My attitude toward my "real job" varies, often depending on my energy level and on whether I have done anything really flipping stupid at work lately. Regardless, I'm about to start picking up more hours by teaching P.E. and movement to preschoolers, so that should put me at full time. I'm utterly stressed out by it all at the moment, but we'll see how it goes, yes? Yes.
Reading: I am incredibly lucky to have 40 minutes or so every day during which I basically get paid to sit in a van and read while I wait for kids to be let out of school. I have been enjoying the kindle I received for Christmas.
Interpersonal interaction (read: light exercises in hedonism*) : So, though I seriously doubted that they would, things have ended up going with this guy (mentioned at the bottom of the link). Ian. We spent three and a half months hanging out a lot and texting a ridiculous amount and kind of liking each other and being indecisive (because, let's be real, we only have so much in common), and appear to have both decided to quit overanalyzing our lives and just give it a go. So...here we go, I guess. Anyway, he's one of the main reasons I'm so deliriously tired this week, and he is quite a good Valentine. I have a dozen long-stem roses, and candies from Italy and New York, and more honesty than I might have expected. I'm so unromantic; I feel like I inadvertently cancel out his sporadic attempts to be so. I am so unused to being given random gifts (I guess Valentine's Day is a typical gift-giving time, but I'm still not used to it) that I never know how to react. But he is witty and sarcastic and sweet and thoughtful. And I like him.
*Look, I'm being emotional like I said I was, okay? "As best I can" doesn't mean "perfectly."
Work: I'm still doing the with-kids stuff and also still doing some odd jobs (tutoring, babysitting, pet sitting, whatever). My attitude toward my "real job" varies, often depending on my energy level and on whether I have done anything really flipping stupid at work lately. Regardless, I'm about to start picking up more hours by teaching P.E. and movement to preschoolers, so that should put me at full time. I'm utterly stressed out by it all at the moment, but we'll see how it goes, yes? Yes.
Reading: I am incredibly lucky to have 40 minutes or so every day during which I basically get paid to sit in a van and read while I wait for kids to be let out of school. I have been enjoying the kindle I received for Christmas.
Interpersonal interaction (read: light exercises in hedonism*) : So, though I seriously doubted that they would, things have ended up going with this guy (mentioned at the bottom of the link). Ian. We spent three and a half months hanging out a lot and texting a ridiculous amount and kind of liking each other and being indecisive (because, let's be real, we only have so much in common), and appear to have both decided to quit overanalyzing our lives and just give it a go. So...here we go, I guess. Anyway, he's one of the main reasons I'm so deliriously tired this week, and he is quite a good Valentine. I have a dozen long-stem roses, and candies from Italy and New York, and more honesty than I might have expected. I'm so unromantic; I feel like I inadvertently cancel out his sporadic attempts to be so. I am so unused to being given random gifts (I guess Valentine's Day is a typical gift-giving time, but I'm still not used to it) that I never know how to react. But he is witty and sarcastic and sweet and thoughtful. And I like him.
*Look, I'm being emotional like I said I was, okay? "As best I can" doesn't mean "perfectly."
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
There just isn't enough trashy in my life.
It has come to my attention that there is nothing in my wardrobe that sparkles. Not one thing. Where can I find cheap crap with glitter and sprinkles*?
This appalling lack of trashy came to my attention on New Year's Eve, when Eva and I went to get dressed and while she was putting on a sparkly tank top, I was dejectedly pawing through my piles of cotton blends. It was a sad moment.
One thing I am happy about, though, [disclaimer here: I am so terrible at drawing a line when it comes to TMI and noonegivesashit and "that girl is so crazy (in a bad way)." I am aware of this. You should be aware that this is maybe one of those times where my inability to properly screen my subject matter is more apparent] is my colorful undergarments. I got some new ones via mail order while I was in Scotland, and I noticed this afternoon that the under layers I was wearing were (are) colored as follows: blue and white polka dot, plum-colored, bright yellow, and bright blue. And in the dirty clothes pile on the floor were (are) pink silk long johns with a matching shirt, and some more pink and blue and bright green and purple and "with stars" stuff. So maybe most of my normal clothes are boring and I have too strong an attachment to blue jeans and zip hoodies, but it's okay, because I'm like a mullet. Business in the front, yes?
I bought new chapstick (I use the term loosely in that I never buy Chapstick, only sticks of wax-based stuff to keep my lips from bleeding when it gets too dry out) tonight, and I didn't like it at all. This is at least the second time in a row that this has happened. Not cool. I gave it to Chloe. I've been using Burt's Bees for a while, but have been looking (out of boredom and curiosity more than dissatisfaction) for an alternative. I haven't been particularly successful, obviously.
We're throwing an engagement party for my cousin this weekend, and as trying to get me to cook or bake is generally a pretty painful experience for all involved (not that I can't; just that trying to get me to is a huge pain), my main job in all this is to paint the bathroom and not eat the freshly baked biscotti or cheese pennies or ham biscuits with pimento cheese, or whatever other delicious things get made this week, all from scratch. I'm sure that second part of the job, the not-eating-stuff part, will get harder as the week progresses, but at the moment I am feeling the irritation that is trying to scrape a bathroom that, for some unfathomably asinine reason, was painted ten years ago with flat paint. Except for the closet door frame, and one stretch of wall below the medicine cabinet, which were sensibly painted with semigloss. Whose idea was that? Flat paint, by the way, does not hold up to moisture. Like, at all. Don't f-ing paint your bathroom (or kitchen, for God's sake) with flat paint.
On the plus side, and on an entirely different note, we lost power the other day. I think some drunken idiot ran into a power pole or something, because a huge section of the neighborhood lost power on a fairly clear, non-windy evening. Obviously that isn't super great. It's "on the plus side" because I texted Jack to tell him the power was out and ask him if he needed a flashlight or extra blankets or anything, and then he came home with five snuggies. I have way too much stubborn pride to actually buy a snuggie, but damned if I'm going to let one go to waste. Also, as it turns out, a snuggie is (or seems to be) the perfect thing for my father, who is nearly always cold but doesn't like using blankets or adding lots of layers. Cozy light blanket with arms? It's the perfect compromise! I can't imagine why we didn't think of this before.
*Halfway meant to type "sparkles," but had intended to type "metallic sequins" before I stopped paying attention to what I was typing. I think I'll leave sprinkles though.
**Homeless footnote: in the interest of using this like a diary and giving myself some actual record of what's going on even when I don't feel like typing/talking about it, I should admit that I have been super emo about David lately. "Super emo" is probably far too strong a phrase, but whatever. And anyway, it's hard to be so completely single when kissing is so much fun, and when there are piles of colorful awesomeness lying around. I mean really.
This appalling lack of trashy came to my attention on New Year's Eve, when Eva and I went to get dressed and while she was putting on a sparkly tank top, I was dejectedly pawing through my piles of cotton blends. It was a sad moment.
One thing I am happy about, though, [disclaimer here: I am so terrible at drawing a line when it comes to TMI and noonegivesashit and "that girl is so crazy (in a bad way)." I am aware of this. You should be aware that this is maybe one of those times where my inability to properly screen my subject matter is more apparent] is my colorful undergarments. I got some new ones via mail order while I was in Scotland, and I noticed this afternoon that the under layers I was wearing were (are) colored as follows: blue and white polka dot, plum-colored, bright yellow, and bright blue. And in the dirty clothes pile on the floor were (are) pink silk long johns with a matching shirt, and some more pink and blue and bright green and purple and "with stars" stuff. So maybe most of my normal clothes are boring and I have too strong an attachment to blue jeans and zip hoodies, but it's okay, because I'm like a mullet. Business in the front, yes?
I bought new chapstick (I use the term loosely in that I never buy Chapstick, only sticks of wax-based stuff to keep my lips from bleeding when it gets too dry out) tonight, and I didn't like it at all. This is at least the second time in a row that this has happened. Not cool. I gave it to Chloe. I've been using Burt's Bees for a while, but have been looking (out of boredom and curiosity more than dissatisfaction) for an alternative. I haven't been particularly successful, obviously.
We're throwing an engagement party for my cousin this weekend, and as trying to get me to cook or bake is generally a pretty painful experience for all involved (not that I can't; just that trying to get me to is a huge pain), my main job in all this is to paint the bathroom and not eat the freshly baked biscotti or cheese pennies or ham biscuits with pimento cheese, or whatever other delicious things get made this week, all from scratch. I'm sure that second part of the job, the not-eating-stuff part, will get harder as the week progresses, but at the moment I am feeling the irritation that is trying to scrape a bathroom that, for some unfathomably asinine reason, was painted ten years ago with flat paint. Except for the closet door frame, and one stretch of wall below the medicine cabinet, which were sensibly painted with semigloss. Whose idea was that? Flat paint, by the way, does not hold up to moisture. Like, at all. Don't f-ing paint your bathroom (or kitchen, for God's sake) with flat paint.
On the plus side, and on an entirely different note, we lost power the other day. I think some drunken idiot ran into a power pole or something, because a huge section of the neighborhood lost power on a fairly clear, non-windy evening. Obviously that isn't super great. It's "on the plus side" because I texted Jack to tell him the power was out and ask him if he needed a flashlight or extra blankets or anything, and then he came home with five snuggies. I have way too much stubborn pride to actually buy a snuggie, but damned if I'm going to let one go to waste. Also, as it turns out, a snuggie is (or seems to be) the perfect thing for my father, who is nearly always cold but doesn't like using blankets or adding lots of layers. Cozy light blanket with arms? It's the perfect compromise! I can't imagine why we didn't think of this before.
*Halfway meant to type "sparkles," but had intended to type "metallic sequins" before I stopped paying attention to what I was typing. I think I'll leave sprinkles though.
**Homeless footnote: in the interest of using this like a diary and giving myself some actual record of what's going on even when I don't feel like typing/talking about it, I should admit that I have been super emo about David lately. "Super emo" is probably far too strong a phrase, but whatever. And anyway, it's hard to be so completely single when kissing is so much fun, and when there are piles of colorful awesomeness lying around. I mean really.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
So, Scotland.
We took a van up to the airport, and we checked in for our Air France flight by an angel or something. We were upgraded to business class. I had never had much of an idea of what traveling business class would entail, but to give a basic description, it entails unbelievable awesomeness. It is, in my opinion, basically what long-distance air travel should be. Our seats were of a comfortable width, with ample leg room. Each seat reclined within its own space, so as not to affect those seated before and behind it. The food was, for the most part, rather excellent.* We were offered orange juice or champagne (or, in the case of those who couldn't make up their minds, both) after we were seated. There was a selection of complimentary wines. There were hot towels. There were extremely attractive male flight attendants. (Honestly, I suspected that they put the most attractive attendants closest to the front.) There were pillows and (sadly, quite scratchy) wool blankets, and little toiletry packets with eye masks and socks and lotion and travel toothbrushes. There were water bottles and little storage spaces for stuff. There were also individual movie screens with a selection of tv shows and movies and music and so on, but I suspect that that is fairly standard on international red-eye flights. I watched The Karate Kid remake and Inception, not in that order. The first was quite enjoyable, but I'm not going to try to argue that it was extremely high quality. I thought Inception (which I also hadn't seen) was fantastic, but after discussing it with Sara, I will admit that a lack of depth was covered up with interesting ideas like multi-level dreams. Still, I loved it, with the one exception of the stupid "oh, is it still spinning? Will it stop?" top totem shot at the end. I thought that part was a little bit stupid and unnecessary.
Anyway, I'll probably never get to travel business class again, but trust me: I savored every single moment of it.
I managed to stay perky and upbeat through our cab ride to the hotel and a bit of our tea with Sara and Ami and Brian, and then I started to crash. And then I started to get a bit irritable. And then I started to get downright angry. (This tends to happen when I don't sleep enough before leaving for a trip, and then I don't sleep on the trip, and then people tell me that I'm not even allowed to nap until nightfall.) I quietly and rather passive-agressivly ditched the giving-Sara-and-Brian-Christmas-gifts party and went and, dammit, took a nap in my room anyway. What was evidently only fifteen minutes later I felt about 60% more human, and barely conscious enough to talk myself into accompanying everyone on a stroll around the city and the Royal Mile, on the bases that 1. you only get a first day in Scotland once, and 2. Ami's visit only overlapped ours by about 24 hours. I wandered around, 15 feet behind the group, in a near-stupor with an utterly dazed expression on my face for what seemed like days. I watched the hours slide glacially past with mounting horror and a vague sense of panic. Eventually, miraculously, evening came, and I slept. I was late for breakfast (possibly I didn't sleep well? Can't remember), and sat down about five minutes before Ami left to catch her cab. We (Ami, Sara, Brian, and myself) had all spent some time together the previous night in the bar**, though, so it wasn't a total loss. We spent most of our time in Edinburgh wandering the Royal Mile, which is the mile-long (or so I gather) stretch of road connecting Edinburgh castle with the Scottish Parliament and the Queen's castle. It's pretty touristy, but it's nice. We met a schoolteacher who evidently uses his free time to dress up as William Wallace, take pictures with tourists, and flash unsuspecting bystanders with a view of the royal lion tattoo on his right buttcheek. We toured the castle, explored some shops, ate a lot of truly excellent food, and went to the Keilidh (pronounced kay-lee) at Hogmanay, which was excellent. These people know how to do fireworks, and even if the main band conspicuously lacked a fiddler, I loved the dancing.
After Edinburgh (which, I admit, was better and more eventful than I am letting on, but you're getting shafted because I'm tired and lazy) we went to Dundee to visit Sara and Brian's apartment and stomping grounds for a night. Their flat is enormous, and quite nice, even if the alley outside is loud. Very loud. I was struck with a strong urge to stay and live with them. I miss Sara a lot. :o/ All of their favorite restaurants were closed (as we should have forseen, as we were visiting on bank holidays), but we made out alright. The next morning, that being yesterday morning, we took off for a brief visit to St. Andrews and a very sleepy drive to Gullane, which is where I now sit typing.
Key points:
Scotland is beautiful.
The dollar seems far less awesome when visiting the EU, as the euro (not used here) and the GBP rather effectively cut my purchasing power nearly in half.
AMERICAN SCONES WTF. Don't eat that crap. Come to Scotland and try these.
If you aren't careful, random Indian men may or may not try to make out with you at Hogmanay.
Australians, forever underscoring the excellent rating they already have in my head, carry breath mints at Hogmanay.
Get upgraded to business class if at all possible.
Scots like thistles.
I am going to bed.
*In all fairness, I should probably note here that I almost never have problems with airline food.
**And when I say "bar," I mean a beautifully furnished and well-spaced set of rooms with an open floor plan, couches, and rather attractive*** bartenders.
***Don't judge me.
Anyway, I'll probably never get to travel business class again, but trust me: I savored every single moment of it.
I managed to stay perky and upbeat through our cab ride to the hotel and a bit of our tea with Sara and Ami and Brian, and then I started to crash. And then I started to get a bit irritable. And then I started to get downright angry. (This tends to happen when I don't sleep enough before leaving for a trip, and then I don't sleep on the trip, and then people tell me that I'm not even allowed to nap until nightfall.) I quietly and rather passive-agressivly ditched the giving-Sara-and-Brian-Christmas-gifts party and went and, dammit, took a nap in my room anyway. What was evidently only fifteen minutes later I felt about 60% more human, and barely conscious enough to talk myself into accompanying everyone on a stroll around the city and the Royal Mile, on the bases that 1. you only get a first day in Scotland once, and 2. Ami's visit only overlapped ours by about 24 hours. I wandered around, 15 feet behind the group, in a near-stupor with an utterly dazed expression on my face for what seemed like days. I watched the hours slide glacially past with mounting horror and a vague sense of panic. Eventually, miraculously, evening came, and I slept. I was late for breakfast (possibly I didn't sleep well? Can't remember), and sat down about five minutes before Ami left to catch her cab. We (Ami, Sara, Brian, and myself) had all spent some time together the previous night in the bar**, though, so it wasn't a total loss. We spent most of our time in Edinburgh wandering the Royal Mile, which is the mile-long (or so I gather) stretch of road connecting Edinburgh castle with the Scottish Parliament and the Queen's castle. It's pretty touristy, but it's nice. We met a schoolteacher who evidently uses his free time to dress up as William Wallace, take pictures with tourists, and flash unsuspecting bystanders with a view of the royal lion tattoo on his right buttcheek. We toured the castle, explored some shops, ate a lot of truly excellent food, and went to the Keilidh (pronounced kay-lee) at Hogmanay, which was excellent. These people know how to do fireworks, and even if the main band conspicuously lacked a fiddler, I loved the dancing.
After Edinburgh (which, I admit, was better and more eventful than I am letting on, but you're getting shafted because I'm tired and lazy) we went to Dundee to visit Sara and Brian's apartment and stomping grounds for a night. Their flat is enormous, and quite nice, even if the alley outside is loud. Very loud. I was struck with a strong urge to stay and live with them. I miss Sara a lot. :o/ All of their favorite restaurants were closed (as we should have forseen, as we were visiting on bank holidays), but we made out alright. The next morning, that being yesterday morning, we took off for a brief visit to St. Andrews and a very sleepy drive to Gullane, which is where I now sit typing.
Key points:
Scotland is beautiful.
The dollar seems far less awesome when visiting the EU, as the euro (not used here) and the GBP rather effectively cut my purchasing power nearly in half.
AMERICAN SCONES WTF. Don't eat that crap. Come to Scotland and try these.
If you aren't careful, random Indian men may or may not try to make out with you at Hogmanay.
Australians, forever underscoring the excellent rating they already have in my head, carry breath mints at Hogmanay.
Get upgraded to business class if at all possible.
Scots like thistles.
I am going to bed.
*In all fairness, I should probably note here that I almost never have problems with airline food.
**And when I say "bar," I mean a beautifully furnished and well-spaced set of rooms with an open floor plan, couches, and rather attractive*** bartenders.
***Don't judge me.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
We had one of those long, mostly substantive talks.
Some lessons learned via said conversation:
I am doing nobody any favors by aspiring to become a career receptionist. That's idiotic.
Mutable schedules? No. Things happen When They Are Scheduled. Even if I am the one who scheduled them. Period.
I will get up at 9 or earlier. Period.* This "sleeping until I have something to do" thing has got to stop.
Art Time will be from 10-noon.**
Other things can be scheduled around these.
On another note, the palette of the river has been so lovely lately. All made up of the most delicate shades of purple, blue, pink, and grey. Every time I cross it I wish I could just stop on the bridge and get out, and stare or paint or at the very least take pictures. I love going with people to the river, but I always feel pushed to move on more quickly than I would to the next thing. Left to my own devices I will sometimes just look at the water for an hour or more. Usually, of course, there is something else that needs to be done before so much time has passed. I sat with David by the river once, the powerful Rappahannock, a week after we broke up. We just watched the water rush by, and talked very little as I remember. That night we were rushed to dinner only by the cold of a March evening.
I left my tea like an idiot while I got dressed earlier, and I let it steep far too long. It's bitter. And I have promised myself to cut back on the ungodly amounts of honey I use in tea, so I am just drinking it bitter. English Breakfast tea, too. What a shame. Still, it's nice to have time to drink tea in the morning. And all because I got out of bed at 9ish. Mmmm.
*Well, my alarm went off at 9 today, but I actually "got up" about 15-20 minutes later. But that's a start, right? Particularly considering that I don't have anywhere to be until nearly 11.
**I felt a lot more adamant about this last night, but I am going to try to stick with it, even if only for the sake of having some structure in my day, and particularly something to get up for. For discipline. And I think better when I spend time painting. I breathe better. Maybe I'll add "blank stretched canvasses" to that Christmas list. And Bailey's. Did I say Bailey's before? And dark brown Uggs. Don't judge me. They're the warmest things I have ever put on my feet.
I am doing nobody any favors by aspiring to become a career receptionist. That's idiotic.
Mutable schedules? No. Things happen When They Are Scheduled. Even if I am the one who scheduled them. Period.
I will get up at 9 or earlier. Period.* This "sleeping until I have something to do" thing has got to stop.
Art Time will be from 10-noon.**
Other things can be scheduled around these.
On another note, the palette of the river has been so lovely lately. All made up of the most delicate shades of purple, blue, pink, and grey. Every time I cross it I wish I could just stop on the bridge and get out, and stare or paint or at the very least take pictures. I love going with people to the river, but I always feel pushed to move on more quickly than I would to the next thing. Left to my own devices I will sometimes just look at the water for an hour or more. Usually, of course, there is something else that needs to be done before so much time has passed. I sat with David by the river once, the powerful Rappahannock, a week after we broke up. We just watched the water rush by, and talked very little as I remember. That night we were rushed to dinner only by the cold of a March evening.
I left my tea like an idiot while I got dressed earlier, and I let it steep far too long. It's bitter. And I have promised myself to cut back on the ungodly amounts of honey I use in tea, so I am just drinking it bitter. English Breakfast tea, too. What a shame. Still, it's nice to have time to drink tea in the morning. And all because I got out of bed at 9ish. Mmmm.
*Well, my alarm went off at 9 today, but I actually "got up" about 15-20 minutes later. But that's a start, right? Particularly considering that I don't have anywhere to be until nearly 11.
**I felt a lot more adamant about this last night, but I am going to try to stick with it, even if only for the sake of having some structure in my day, and particularly something to get up for. For discipline. And I think better when I spend time painting. I breathe better. Maybe I'll add "blank stretched canvasses" to that Christmas list. And Bailey's. Did I say Bailey's before? And dark brown Uggs. Don't judge me. They're the warmest things I have ever put on my feet.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Important Announcement
Attention: the first bright and shiny outdoor decorated tree is decorated! It lives just at the end of my street, so I get to look at it every time I pull out onto the main road at night. Love.
(The holiday season is heralded by NPR jazz playing on the car radio as green and red and white lights flicker and flow through dark, misty rain-shined streets. Also, brightly decorated outdoor trees.)
Tonight I went home to have dinner with my parents and walk Miley--but as I believe I have mentioned*, Miley needs to be walked late at night if she is to be expected to refrain from waking my mother at 4 or 5 am. After dinner, therefore, I retired to my room and began playing dress-up with my new boots (by the way, my boots came in the mail yesterday), ostensibly in an effort to find something to wear on the plane to Scotland. I really did (mostly) start out with that aim, but it quickly degenerated into "let's figure out how many things I can get away with wearing with grey boots and orangeish-yellow tights." Since "get away with" is a relative term and at times like this I have very little shame, it turns out that the answer is "a lot." But still, if I am going to have any success on my campaign to bring color to Dundee (where, I have heard, nobody wears any colors), I am going to need a lot more pairs of colored tights.
I am house/pet sitting again for Sara's parents, and I have just run out of Bailey's. This is so uncool. I might have to go to the ABC store tomorrow like an alkie** and get some more.
On another note,
Linked on facebook by my friend Cliff
*I mistyped this at first, but evidently "mentioend" is a word***.
**This is one of those sometimes-mildly-frustrating abbreviations that are spelled in ways that don't really relate to the parent word. Technically this should be "alchey" or "alchie," which are totally unsatisfying spellings, and misleading in terms of pronounciation. I guess the accepted spelling ("alkie") can be justified by categorizing it as slang. I guess.
***Actually, it appears that this computer (or this browser?) has spell check turned off. Good to know I suppose, but now I'm worried that everything I am writing is riddled with typos. Just yesterday I realized that the last formspring question I had the honor of answering was answered with a "to" where a "too" should be. I was mortified. Someone please, please have mercy and give me something else to put at the top of my page. Not that anyone is reading that stuff, but I have my pride.
(The holiday season is heralded by NPR jazz playing on the car radio as green and red and white lights flicker and flow through dark, misty rain-shined streets. Also, brightly decorated outdoor trees.)
Tonight I went home to have dinner with my parents and walk Miley--but as I believe I have mentioned*, Miley needs to be walked late at night if she is to be expected to refrain from waking my mother at 4 or 5 am. After dinner, therefore, I retired to my room and began playing dress-up with my new boots (by the way, my boots came in the mail yesterday), ostensibly in an effort to find something to wear on the plane to Scotland. I really did (mostly) start out with that aim, but it quickly degenerated into "let's figure out how many things I can get away with wearing with grey boots and orangeish-yellow tights." Since "get away with" is a relative term and at times like this I have very little shame, it turns out that the answer is "a lot." But still, if I am going to have any success on my campaign to bring color to Dundee (where, I have heard, nobody wears any colors), I am going to need a lot more pairs of colored tights.
I am house/pet sitting again for Sara's parents, and I have just run out of Bailey's. This is so uncool. I might have to go to the ABC store tomorrow like an alkie** and get some more.
On another note,
Linked on facebook by my friend Cliff
*I mistyped this at first, but evidently "mentioend" is a word***.
**This is one of those sometimes-mildly-frustrating abbreviations that are spelled in ways that don't really relate to the parent word. Technically this should be "alchey" or "alchie," which are totally unsatisfying spellings, and misleading in terms of pronounciation. I guess the accepted spelling ("alkie") can be justified by categorizing it as slang. I guess.
***Actually, it appears that this computer (or this browser?) has spell check turned off. Good to know I suppose, but now I'm worried that everything I am writing is riddled with typos. Just yesterday I realized that the last formspring question I had the honor of answering was answered with a "to" where a "too" should be. I was mortified. Someone please, please have mercy and give me something else to put at the top of my page. Not that anyone is reading that stuff, but I have my pride.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Navel-gazing, and otherness
I keep intending to post things and...not doing it. How unlike me.
Also unlike me*: I have been really wondering/hoping to figure out what on earth I want to do with myself. I shoot down every option. Sometimes in the middle of this I think, "you know, I'd really just like to be a housewife." This is a completely ridiculous idea. Perhaps someday I could make that work, but the me that I am right now could not. I would be utterly bored, completely aimless, probably depressed, and most importantly, would fail at fulfilling the duties of a housewife, i.e., keeping the house reasonably clean and making edible things to eat. It isn't that I can't clean and cook--it's that I wouldn't. Time drags by remarkably quickly when you're not doing anything.
Anyway, I just took an hour.5 break from writing this and went and applied for stuff on Craigslist, which is, inexplicably**, my job-hunting method of choice. Want to know which one I'm most excited about? Installing bleachers and stuff in gyms. Choice number two: working in a print shop. PS, I am sick of people and having to act all professional and crap. (Irony intended.) It's not that I don't have people skills, it's just that I don't want to use the make-fake-nice ones.
I really need to find a niche.
On having meant to write: I keep meaning to write things about the moon (a frequently intended topic) and about wild storm winds blowing through the trees at night, and about owls winging overhead and fall leaves swirling and racing across the road in the rain, but it just doesn't get done. However! I did actually stop at the UPS store today and return the pair of boots that didn't fit! This was a huge feat because it involved the post, despite the fact that the return shipping was free and that I pass the UPS store every day on my way to work or almost anywhere else. Also I bought a stamp! I am that much closer to mailing the letter I mostly wrote to Larry two < three weeks ago.
Is anyone here a fan of Sherlock Holmes? I am, in that my mom loves the series and I grew up on "Basil of Baker Street" and "Slylock Fox" and watched the new movie with the guy from Iron Man and then just now watched the first episode of the new, modernized Masterpiece Mystery series, "Sherlock," on PBS. It was awesome. You should watch it. It comes on Sundays at 9 EST and then is re-aired the following Wednesday at the same time. Benedict Cumberpatch stars and delivers the peach of a line, "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Also starring (as Watson) is that one guy (okay, Martin Freeman) from Love Actually and the criminally mediocre HHG film adaptation. I love him wherever he goes, and this miniseries is no exception.
*Please, please do note the sarcasm here, and in many places in which I write. I have an uncle who consistently fails to do so, and when this happens I begin to wonder about the sort of impression I give.
**That's not exactly true. When you apply on CL you do run the risk of getting spammed/identity thefted/otherwise scammed, but you don't have to fill out stupid long applications or, like, actually use a telephone or visit a business. I've got priorities, ok?
***Did that make sense? More than two, less than three.
Also unlike me*: I have been really wondering/hoping to figure out what on earth I want to do with myself. I shoot down every option. Sometimes in the middle of this I think, "you know, I'd really just like to be a housewife." This is a completely ridiculous idea. Perhaps someday I could make that work, but the me that I am right now could not. I would be utterly bored, completely aimless, probably depressed, and most importantly, would fail at fulfilling the duties of a housewife, i.e., keeping the house reasonably clean and making edible things to eat. It isn't that I can't clean and cook--it's that I wouldn't. Time drags by remarkably quickly when you're not doing anything.
Anyway, I just took an hour.5 break from writing this and went and applied for stuff on Craigslist, which is, inexplicably**, my job-hunting method of choice. Want to know which one I'm most excited about? Installing bleachers and stuff in gyms. Choice number two: working in a print shop. PS, I am sick of people and having to act all professional and crap. (Irony intended.) It's not that I don't have people skills, it's just that I don't want to use the make-fake-nice ones.
I really need to find a niche.
On having meant to write: I keep meaning to write things about the moon (a frequently intended topic) and about wild storm winds blowing through the trees at night, and about owls winging overhead and fall leaves swirling and racing across the road in the rain, but it just doesn't get done. However! I did actually stop at the UPS store today and return the pair of boots that didn't fit! This was a huge feat because it involved the post, despite the fact that the return shipping was free and that I pass the UPS store every day on my way to work or almost anywhere else. Also I bought a stamp! I am that much closer to mailing the letter I mostly wrote to Larry two < three weeks ago.
Is anyone here a fan of Sherlock Holmes? I am, in that my mom loves the series and I grew up on "Basil of Baker Street" and "Slylock Fox" and watched the new movie with the guy from Iron Man and then just now watched the first episode of the new, modernized Masterpiece Mystery series, "Sherlock," on PBS. It was awesome. You should watch it. It comes on Sundays at 9 EST and then is re-aired the following Wednesday at the same time. Benedict Cumberpatch stars and delivers the peach of a line, "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Also starring (as Watson) is that one guy (okay, Martin Freeman) from Love Actually and the criminally mediocre HHG film adaptation. I love him wherever he goes, and this miniseries is no exception.
*Please, please do note the sarcasm here, and in many places in which I write. I have an uncle who consistently fails to do so, and when this happens I begin to wonder about the sort of impression I give.
**That's not exactly true. When you apply on CL you do run the risk of getting spammed/identity thefted/otherwise scammed, but you don't have to fill out stupid long applications or, like, actually use a telephone or visit a business. I've got priorities, ok?
***Did that make sense? More than two, less than three.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Toilet humor, and some unrelated issues.
More tabs I don't want to part with, which I shall save by sharing here. Lucky you.
Top Ten Toilets*
Best Flush Toilet Ever
But really, flush toilets need to go.**
A note on this article: I am of the opinion that a person should be aware of the definitions of the words that he or she chooses to use. I'm sure I've made mistakes of this genre before, but really: infinitesimally?
Observe:
"And in some Indian villages, simple latrines have been built that separate waste and use it to produce compost and fertilizer at a per capita cost infinitesimally lower than any waste management budget in the West."
Infinitesimally lower? Really? So what you're saying here is that despite their lack of capital and the fact that they don't flush with water and use their waste to produce substances which are actually useful, their per capita waste-management cost is pretty much the same as ours here in the U.S. Well that's good to know. Guess we can just stick with our good old "throwing money down the toilet" system we've got going on now. What a relief.
And the unrelated:
The ongoing battle of rights vs safety, and whether more rights equals more safety, and what constitutes reckless endangerment, and how many hairs can we split in trying to get our way?
*Has anyone here seen Trainspotting? I have not. I know nothing about it. What's the deal?
**I have too much self respect to give*** solid form to the pun that's dangling right here.
***But not too much to write that unforgivable footnote.
Top Ten Toilets*
Best Flush Toilet Ever
But really, flush toilets need to go.**
A note on this article: I am of the opinion that a person should be aware of the definitions of the words that he or she chooses to use. I'm sure I've made mistakes of this genre before, but really: infinitesimally?
Observe:
"And in some Indian villages, simple latrines have been built that separate waste and use it to produce compost and fertilizer at a per capita cost infinitesimally lower than any waste management budget in the West."
Infinitesimally lower? Really? So what you're saying here is that despite their lack of capital and the fact that they don't flush with water and use their waste to produce substances which are actually useful, their per capita waste-management cost is pretty much the same as ours here in the U.S. Well that's good to know. Guess we can just stick with our good old "throwing money down the toilet" system we've got going on now. What a relief.
And the unrelated:
The ongoing battle of rights vs safety, and whether more rights equals more safety, and what constitutes reckless endangerment, and how many hairs can we split in trying to get our way?
*Has anyone here seen Trainspotting? I have not. I know nothing about it. What's the deal?
**I have too much self respect to give*** solid form to the pun that's dangling right here.
***But not too much to write that unforgivable footnote.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
At the end of the week
It's funny how you can sometimes curl up in a dark room and feel exposed, or stand miles from the sea and drown in loneliness and bitterness and regret. It's funny how two people--siblings, or lovers, or friends--who should or did or do love each other can be driven so far apart, with no reconciliation in sight. I have no teaching job. I have no relationship with my brother. I am dripping sweat and illogical, unquenchable, idiotic bitterness. I'll see what I can do. Probably it's largely that I am exhausted and haven't been alone in too long and am sick to goddamn death of fighting with Jack, and I don't know what to do to make it stop.
Saturday night I finally stayed at the campsite instead of in our cabin--I had meant to so many times but somehow our cabin became the hangout for everyone ages 25 and younger. And I'm not trying to say that that wasn't pretty awesome the vast majority of the time, but once it's 2 am and everyone is on their way to sleep, the idea of leaving a nice soft bed in an air-conditioned room to walk down to an air mattress on a hot, muggy night sounds a lot less appetizing. After the last large group dinner at Roxie's cabin Larry and I went down to the campsite to set up beds, then back up to my family's cabin to get packed up, and back down to the campsite again. There was some drama with Chloe along the way, because she (understandably, in my opinion) does not like to be the trendsetter with regards to activities, and had become such. So she hid for a while whilst Larry and I and Travis got a poker game together*, and then she came back down to play. Earlier in the day a soda had been spilled on the usual game table and it was swarming with ants, so we played a fair ways away from the main campsites, and assumed that when people went out of the game and left, they were going to bed. Not so my friends! Oh no. I beat Larry at 1:30 am and then, and then back at the air mattresses on the tarp by the warm lake and underneath the hiding and peeping stars, everyone was still awake, and talking and laughing and playing youtube videos on Lenny's iphone and Zyrone's.. whatever phone. So I had that same conversation with myself as always about how I should sleep, with the same result as always--staying up until other people go to sleep.
And around 4:15, they did, and I lay back and stared up past the dark, spare shapes of the tree branches above me and into the stars, and I watched the lightning flash and listened to the thunder boom all around us in the distance, and I did not fall asleep. I always marvel, and did especially outside under no cover, at the slow approach of the dawn. It struck me Sunday morning how inaccurate, at least in my experience, is the commonly used phrase and idea of the dawn "breaking." I have never known dawn to break. It approaches. It breathes itself into the night, slowly, softly, almost imperceptibly. When the dawn comes I always think at first that I am mistaken, and that the night is still the night. But soon there are clearly shapes standing sharper against the darkness, and then presently there are colors oozing back into the world, and the sky is no longer black, but blue. The stars have nearly disappeared.
Possibly because it was the last of a reunion that I actively anticipate for five years at a stretch, that morning seemed inescapably pregnant with symbolism to me. As I finally gave up on sleep and began to stare up into the sky's renewed blueness I noticed that the birds had begun to fly South--some alone, some in twos or threes or fives. I am always struck with a sense of sadness at these signs of summer's end. First the leaves begin to fall, and then the birds fly away, and then later the ladybugs die and the leaves begin to turn. Every year I watch for the first leaves fluttering down, just as I watch for the first butterfly, the first bumblebee, the first lightning bug in spring.
Just as it was becoming truly morning and no longer dawn, Bert (or Uncle Bert or Pup) came out and watched us all sleeping out there, and counted how many of us there were. More than any other night I suppose, especially with the addition of myself and Chloe. He took a picture, and then brought Lil (or Lillian, or Grandma, or Aunt Lil) to see us. It was very sweet. Then I heard someone walking toward me and looked up, and my mother was there. So early! I don't think it could have been later than six or six thirty. She had come to swim, so I walked down to the water with her and took pictures, and then suddenly she saw and pointed out the most complete rainbow I've ever seen in the sky. It was a full arc over the lake, and touched the earth on both sides. It had the feeling of a goodbye blessing. Pup called it a good omen. Larry was the first of those on the mattresses to wake up (not counting myself as I'm fairly certain that I never slept), and eventually he came down to the water to swim, and I got in too. A little while later Pup and Lil came in as well, and swam out to some of the old pine trunks which still break the surface. It was a really beautiful morning.
More rumination on symbolism in nature and farewells:
This evening I finally drove, though only for the last couple of hours before we hit home. It hurt my foot actually, which I sliced open on my way into the lake on Tuesday or so. It closes up when I don't walk on it, and then pulls open again whenever I put weight on it, particularly if I'm not wearing shoes. It doesn't bleed--just hurts a little and feels and looks sort of gross. Anyway, the sun was setting directly behind us as we drove East on 460, a bloody, orangey red that belongs to nothing else. I often forget the way the sun swells and wavers as it slowly climbs rung by rung down the cloud ladder in the Western sky. Tonight it seemed to be swelling and shrinking as we drove, and rising and falling as we climbed up hills and then dipped down behind them. It felt to me as though the sunset was another ending, another goodbye paired with the songbirds and the rainbow.
I challenge anyone around to a sappiness contest.
The lake was hot, and the air was hot, and often wet, and it was all beautiful. The mosquitoes weren't so bad this year. I loved seeing everyone again, especially Travis. Especially Ryan. I loved seeing Larry, but he stressed me out. I loved getting to know people who were little kids last time. (I guess Ryan would have been counted in that group if I hadn't kept in touch with his part of the family over the intervening half-decade.) I love seeing the ways in which people grow and change. Travis (Hoppe) and Juliette have five kids now! Up from three last time. And Travis (Erickson) is helping to raise the sweetest little baby. I just love to see the way everything grows.
*Okay so at the last reunion, five years ago, I was introduced to the game of texas hold 'em. I was truly awful at it. Possibly I was nearly as bad at texas hold 'em as I am at chess. It was with this in mind that I passed on the first game that was played at our cabin the other night. Then, the next night, I decided to give it a try. I stayed in a while, then called Ryan's bluff, put him all in, and lost. My chips were pretty depleted after that and I went out shortly thereafter. The next day I played again and lost to Larry right at the end, then Saturday night, when we all played, I won**. WON, I tell you! For the first time in my life. I'm pretty excited about this. Also, I am a little addicted. Also, I need to get a set of poker chips.
**It was pretty awesome, actually. He kept trying to put me all in because it was late and had been going forever even though we had been upping the blinds every time someone went out (by this point little blind was 10, big blind 20), and I kept turning him down. Finally I did go all in--or rather, by that point, put him all in--on a straight. As it turned out, he had a straight too. Fortunately for me, mine went to a queen. His only went to a Jack. I'm pretty sure that this is because God loves me.
Saturday night I finally stayed at the campsite instead of in our cabin--I had meant to so many times but somehow our cabin became the hangout for everyone ages 25 and younger. And I'm not trying to say that that wasn't pretty awesome the vast majority of the time, but once it's 2 am and everyone is on their way to sleep, the idea of leaving a nice soft bed in an air-conditioned room to walk down to an air mattress on a hot, muggy night sounds a lot less appetizing. After the last large group dinner at Roxie's cabin Larry and I went down to the campsite to set up beds, then back up to my family's cabin to get packed up, and back down to the campsite again. There was some drama with Chloe along the way, because she (understandably, in my opinion) does not like to be the trendsetter with regards to activities, and had become such. So she hid for a while whilst Larry and I and Travis got a poker game together*, and then she came back down to play. Earlier in the day a soda had been spilled on the usual game table and it was swarming with ants, so we played a fair ways away from the main campsites, and assumed that when people went out of the game and left, they were going to bed. Not so my friends! Oh no. I beat Larry at 1:30 am and then, and then back at the air mattresses on the tarp by the warm lake and underneath the hiding and peeping stars, everyone was still awake, and talking and laughing and playing youtube videos on Lenny's iphone and Zyrone's.. whatever phone. So I had that same conversation with myself as always about how I should sleep, with the same result as always--staying up until other people go to sleep.
And around 4:15, they did, and I lay back and stared up past the dark, spare shapes of the tree branches above me and into the stars, and I watched the lightning flash and listened to the thunder boom all around us in the distance, and I did not fall asleep. I always marvel, and did especially outside under no cover, at the slow approach of the dawn. It struck me Sunday morning how inaccurate, at least in my experience, is the commonly used phrase and idea of the dawn "breaking." I have never known dawn to break. It approaches. It breathes itself into the night, slowly, softly, almost imperceptibly. When the dawn comes I always think at first that I am mistaken, and that the night is still the night. But soon there are clearly shapes standing sharper against the darkness, and then presently there are colors oozing back into the world, and the sky is no longer black, but blue. The stars have nearly disappeared.
Possibly because it was the last of a reunion that I actively anticipate for five years at a stretch, that morning seemed inescapably pregnant with symbolism to me. As I finally gave up on sleep and began to stare up into the sky's renewed blueness I noticed that the birds had begun to fly South--some alone, some in twos or threes or fives. I am always struck with a sense of sadness at these signs of summer's end. First the leaves begin to fall, and then the birds fly away, and then later the ladybugs die and the leaves begin to turn. Every year I watch for the first leaves fluttering down, just as I watch for the first butterfly, the first bumblebee, the first lightning bug in spring.
Just as it was becoming truly morning and no longer dawn, Bert (or Uncle Bert or Pup) came out and watched us all sleeping out there, and counted how many of us there were. More than any other night I suppose, especially with the addition of myself and Chloe. He took a picture, and then brought Lil (or Lillian, or Grandma, or Aunt Lil) to see us. It was very sweet. Then I heard someone walking toward me and looked up, and my mother was there. So early! I don't think it could have been later than six or six thirty. She had come to swim, so I walked down to the water with her and took pictures, and then suddenly she saw and pointed out the most complete rainbow I've ever seen in the sky. It was a full arc over the lake, and touched the earth on both sides. It had the feeling of a goodbye blessing. Pup called it a good omen. Larry was the first of those on the mattresses to wake up (not counting myself as I'm fairly certain that I never slept), and eventually he came down to the water to swim, and I got in too. A little while later Pup and Lil came in as well, and swam out to some of the old pine trunks which still break the surface. It was a really beautiful morning.
More rumination on symbolism in nature and farewells:
This evening I finally drove, though only for the last couple of hours before we hit home. It hurt my foot actually, which I sliced open on my way into the lake on Tuesday or so. It closes up when I don't walk on it, and then pulls open again whenever I put weight on it, particularly if I'm not wearing shoes. It doesn't bleed--just hurts a little and feels and looks sort of gross. Anyway, the sun was setting directly behind us as we drove East on 460, a bloody, orangey red that belongs to nothing else. I often forget the way the sun swells and wavers as it slowly climbs rung by rung down the cloud ladder in the Western sky. Tonight it seemed to be swelling and shrinking as we drove, and rising and falling as we climbed up hills and then dipped down behind them. It felt to me as though the sunset was another ending, another goodbye paired with the songbirds and the rainbow.
I challenge anyone around to a sappiness contest.
The lake was hot, and the air was hot, and often wet, and it was all beautiful. The mosquitoes weren't so bad this year. I loved seeing everyone again, especially Travis. Especially Ryan. I loved seeing Larry, but he stressed me out. I loved getting to know people who were little kids last time. (I guess Ryan would have been counted in that group if I hadn't kept in touch with his part of the family over the intervening half-decade.) I love seeing the ways in which people grow and change. Travis (Hoppe) and Juliette have five kids now! Up from three last time. And Travis (Erickson) is helping to raise the sweetest little baby. I just love to see the way everything grows.
*Okay so at the last reunion, five years ago, I was introduced to the game of texas hold 'em. I was truly awful at it. Possibly I was nearly as bad at texas hold 'em as I am at chess. It was with this in mind that I passed on the first game that was played at our cabin the other night. Then, the next night, I decided to give it a try. I stayed in a while, then called Ryan's bluff, put him all in, and lost. My chips were pretty depleted after that and I went out shortly thereafter. The next day I played again and lost to Larry right at the end, then Saturday night, when we all played, I won**. WON, I tell you! For the first time in my life. I'm pretty excited about this. Also, I am a little addicted. Also, I need to get a set of poker chips.
**It was pretty awesome, actually. He kept trying to put me all in because it was late and had been going forever even though we had been upping the blinds every time someone went out (by this point little blind was 10, big blind 20), and I kept turning him down. Finally I did go all in--or rather, by that point, put him all in--on a straight. As it turned out, he had a straight too. Fortunately for me, mine went to a queen. His only went to a Jack. I'm pretty sure that this is because God loves me.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Dear internet,
Please work. Or maybe it's better that you not, as I am less distracted from the ocean when you are sleeping or on break. And how much time do I get to spend with the ocean? But still, I just want to sleep.
I have been writing a fair amount over the past couple of days but largely not posting said writings due to a fickle internet connection. This morning I have had the brilliant idea of connecting to a random linksys instead of worrying about our still-uncooperative protected network. I know, I'm a genius.
Things written recently, in reverse order--that is, most recent first (and as separate entries, because this one has footnotes):
I went walking on the beach again tonight (tonight being Tuesday night, but who knows when this will get posted with the way the internet has been acting this evening), out to the waves and then down to the left toward the pier to get my feet wet and let the waves splash up against the hem of my dress and lean against a piling and sing. I carried my water bottle, as usual, both as a source of water and as a blunt object should I be attacked by a madman on a deserted beach after midnight. I should've been a boy scout--always prepared for things that never happen.
I sang under the pier for a while and then headed home around 1 or 1:15 I guess, and halfway back I was suddenly hit with this wave (no pun intended) of fatigue, after which everything seemed so dreamlike--like I wasn't completely conscious, wasn't completely there. Along the way I met a man walking in the opposite direction, and I didn't see him until he was almost upon me--maybe six feet away. I had been singing, and had closed my eyes for a second, rubbing the sleep out of them, and then when I opened them there he was, coming out of the darkness. Sort of freaked me out (in addition to being a little embarassing), though he didn't even acknowledge my presence. He passed me again when I was standing at the waves in front of the house where we're staying, singing again. Rather loudly I think, though it's hard to judge volume with the crashing water. Yes. A little embarrassing.
But even still, night walks on the beach are lovely. I could probably count on my fingers every place I've been where I could see the Milky Way, and here I can see it clearly. Last night I must have seen at least six shooting stars, and I wasn't even looking for them*. The moon rose red and soft over the horizon directly in front of the house, and cooled as it ascended. I wish I wish I wish every time I'm out in the dark that there were some camera that could take pictures of the night the way the night really looks, with the subtle shines and glows and depths which evidently only biological, God-given eyes can see. I often feel at home and in the mountains that I could sit and listen to a stream play or a river run forever, all day and night. It seems sometimes like the sound of a stream, given time, could wash out the inside of my mind. I feel like I could listen to the ocean forever too, but it feels more like a mental caress or an embrace, something to soothe rather than something to refresh and cleanse. I guess refreshing and cleansing and soothing and caressing can interact and overlap, but then, maybe that makes sense. At the risk of getting sickeningly cliche with this, I mean, they're all water. And rivers all** meet the ocean.
*When I am looking for them, of course, I never see any. I lie back in the grass and stare into outer space with grim determination, and then I rub my eyes or glance over at a tree and as if on cue the entire group suddenly gasps with shared delight and appreciation from which I am nearly always excluded. Usually such comments as "that was the [biggest/brightest/most amazing] one I've ever seen!" can be heard.
**Damn logical brain*** forces me to concede that all rivers do not, in fact, meet the ocean. Nature and metaphor are uneasy friends.
**This is why I cannot really enjoy Emerson's**** essays except in excerpted form. It's a crying shame.
****He likes(/liked) to fabricate scientific "facts" to fit his fancy.
I have been writing a fair amount over the past couple of days but largely not posting said writings due to a fickle internet connection. This morning I have had the brilliant idea of connecting to a random linksys instead of worrying about our still-uncooperative protected network. I know, I'm a genius.
Things written recently, in reverse order--that is, most recent first (and as separate entries, because this one has footnotes):
I went walking on the beach again tonight (tonight being Tuesday night, but who knows when this will get posted with the way the internet has been acting this evening), out to the waves and then down to the left toward the pier to get my feet wet and let the waves splash up against the hem of my dress and lean against a piling and sing. I carried my water bottle, as usual, both as a source of water and as a blunt object should I be attacked by a madman on a deserted beach after midnight. I should've been a boy scout--always prepared for things that never happen.
I sang under the pier for a while and then headed home around 1 or 1:15 I guess, and halfway back I was suddenly hit with this wave (no pun intended) of fatigue, after which everything seemed so dreamlike--like I wasn't completely conscious, wasn't completely there. Along the way I met a man walking in the opposite direction, and I didn't see him until he was almost upon me--maybe six feet away. I had been singing, and had closed my eyes for a second, rubbing the sleep out of them, and then when I opened them there he was, coming out of the darkness. Sort of freaked me out (in addition to being a little embarassing), though he didn't even acknowledge my presence. He passed me again when I was standing at the waves in front of the house where we're staying, singing again. Rather loudly I think, though it's hard to judge volume with the crashing water. Yes. A little embarrassing.
But even still, night walks on the beach are lovely. I could probably count on my fingers every place I've been where I could see the Milky Way, and here I can see it clearly. Last night I must have seen at least six shooting stars, and I wasn't even looking for them*. The moon rose red and soft over the horizon directly in front of the house, and cooled as it ascended. I wish I wish I wish every time I'm out in the dark that there were some camera that could take pictures of the night the way the night really looks, with the subtle shines and glows and depths which evidently only biological, God-given eyes can see. I often feel at home and in the mountains that I could sit and listen to a stream play or a river run forever, all day and night. It seems sometimes like the sound of a stream, given time, could wash out the inside of my mind. I feel like I could listen to the ocean forever too, but it feels more like a mental caress or an embrace, something to soothe rather than something to refresh and cleanse. I guess refreshing and cleansing and soothing and caressing can interact and overlap, but then, maybe that makes sense. At the risk of getting sickeningly cliche with this, I mean, they're all water. And rivers all** meet the ocean.
*When I am looking for them, of course, I never see any. I lie back in the grass and stare into outer space with grim determination, and then I rub my eyes or glance over at a tree and as if on cue the entire group suddenly gasps with shared delight and appreciation from which I am nearly always excluded. Usually such comments as "that was the [biggest/brightest/most amazing] one I've ever seen!" can be heard.
**Damn logical brain*** forces me to concede that all rivers do not, in fact, meet the ocean. Nature and metaphor are uneasy friends.
**This is why I cannot really enjoy Emerson's**** essays except in excerpted form. It's a crying shame.
****He likes(/liked) to fabricate scientific "facts" to fit his fancy.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
On hula, and how I jumped the track.
I have been watching a lot of belly dance and hula videos on youtube* today. I have been a little infatuated with the idea of belly dancing for a few days, having read Snake Hips: Belly Dancing and How I Found True Love,** but I have now realized that I loved belly dance mainly because I love hips. (Please note the mock seriousness in my voice throughout this paragraph.) I have now decided that I love hula instead. This is for reasons which are much more worthy than the aforementioned "hips are awesome." Firstly, hula--or at least the stereotypical hula dance--reminds me of water, and I love water. Secondly, hula actually means something; belly dancing does not. That is, belly dancing does not mean anything unless you count "look at me, ohmyGod, I am so sexy" as "something." I'm not trying to bad talk belly dancing. I wouldn't at all be surprised if it did have some sort of deeper meaning, back in the day. However, today it's pretty much just a sparkle competition for people with shimmy skills. Not that I have anything whatsoever against sparkles or shimmy skills. I'm just saying that I don't think I could stand up in front of anyone and bellydance without feeling like a moron. Hula, or at least this hula:
is a dance that has some dignity and purpose.*** I could perform that, I think, without high levels of embarrassment.
In other news, my mood today has been pretty patchy, and said patchiness has been directly related to the going-to-RMA/not-going-to-RMA issue. I woke up in the morning convinced I shouldn't go, and then I spend the day until about 2:00 feeling very bleak, and defeated by the whole issue. You hear that "breaking up is hard to do," but people aren't usually very specific about why. Turns out that not knowing where you stand and not knowing how the hell to act are pretty painful things--or, as my mother would say, not having appropriate boundaries can really mess you up.
Eventually I did perk up a little. Ironically, the perking up happened around the time that I cut, not the shit, I guess, but maybe the piss, out of the first two fingers on my right hand. To defend my honor as much as possible, I feel the need to say that this happened because my fingers slipped off the end of the knife as I was pressing it down to cut the butter I needed to make imperial sauce, and not because I made some other stupid knife error. Turns out the tip of a chef's knife is nearly as sharp as the blade. Go figure. Anyway, my boss, who had acted like a bit of a jerk earlier (in my opinion), was nice about my having bled on his chef's knife. This redeemed him in my eyes for the day, and distracted me enough to get out of the "I am doomed and defeated" hamster wheel I'd been running in my mind all morning. Work was busy today thanks to pre-Passover traffic, so it was good to be able to smile rather than shoot death glares.
Unfortunately, by the time I finally got home around 4, I was feeling good enough to think that hey, maybe driving up to old FroRo in the rain, drinking with my so-recent-I'm-still-bleeding ex-boyfriend and some other guys, then driving back the next day might not be such a bad idea after all. I mention this to David. He says, "get Jr and drive up!" and that he thinks "it would be fun." Not that there is anything wrong with those ideas, but I am clued in that we might not be on the same page. At this point I am again having second thoughts. Fourth thoughts? Anyway, several more hours of slighly less intense, but still painful, feelings of defeat and confusion ensue, at which point I decide to stay home and decide to take a nap.
Note: during all at-home periods of defeatedness and misery, I am watching sexy ladies shake their hips on the internet.
Later: Arise from nap! Eat Gorton's fish fillets and mom's broiled potato and turnip slices! (Don't underestimate the deliciousness of mom's broiled anything, okay?) Watch NCIS! Return to youtube!
A small victory of today: my mentee has consented to my coming to her house tomorrow afternoon and attempting to make frozen yogurt. There was a backup plan, provided by the lovely Sara, in case I failed to find the pieces to the ice cream maker, but luckily some considerate angel (probably myself, actually) placed them all together in one place--near the freezer, no less! And anyway, Chloe ate all the bananas.
Aloha, friends.
*I've said this before, and I will almost certainly say it again: I shudder to think of what life would be like without that website.
**Written by a friend of a friend! And well written, and entertaining to boot!
***In case anyone noticed and was tempted, don't hate on Lilo and Stitch. It was a good movie, and this is a good dance, and the source (assuming they made up the dance for the movie, which they probably did not) isn't the point anyway.
is a dance that has some dignity and purpose.*** I could perform that, I think, without high levels of embarrassment.
In other news, my mood today has been pretty patchy, and said patchiness has been directly related to the going-to-RMA/not-going-to-RMA issue. I woke up in the morning convinced I shouldn't go, and then I spend the day until about 2:00 feeling very bleak, and defeated by the whole issue. You hear that "breaking up is hard to do," but people aren't usually very specific about why. Turns out that not knowing where you stand and not knowing how the hell to act are pretty painful things--or, as my mother would say, not having appropriate boundaries can really mess you up.
Eventually I did perk up a little. Ironically, the perking up happened around the time that I cut, not the shit, I guess, but maybe the piss, out of the first two fingers on my right hand. To defend my honor as much as possible, I feel the need to say that this happened because my fingers slipped off the end of the knife as I was pressing it down to cut the butter I needed to make imperial sauce, and not because I made some other stupid knife error. Turns out the tip of a chef's knife is nearly as sharp as the blade. Go figure. Anyway, my boss, who had acted like a bit of a jerk earlier (in my opinion), was nice about my having bled on his chef's knife. This redeemed him in my eyes for the day, and distracted me enough to get out of the "I am doomed and defeated" hamster wheel I'd been running in my mind all morning. Work was busy today thanks to pre-Passover traffic, so it was good to be able to smile rather than shoot death glares.
Unfortunately, by the time I finally got home around 4, I was feeling good enough to think that hey, maybe driving up to old FroRo in the rain, drinking with my so-recent-I'm-still-bleeding ex-boyfriend and some other guys, then driving back the next day might not be such a bad idea after all. I mention this to David. He says, "get Jr and drive up!" and that he thinks "it would be fun." Not that there is anything wrong with those ideas, but I am clued in that we might not be on the same page. At this point I am again having second thoughts. Fourth thoughts? Anyway, several more hours of slighly less intense, but still painful, feelings of defeat and confusion ensue, at which point I decide to stay home and decide to take a nap.
Note: during all at-home periods of defeatedness and misery, I am watching sexy ladies shake their hips on the internet.
Later: Arise from nap! Eat Gorton's fish fillets and mom's broiled potato and turnip slices! (Don't underestimate the deliciousness of mom's broiled anything, okay?) Watch NCIS! Return to youtube!
A small victory of today: my mentee has consented to my coming to her house tomorrow afternoon and attempting to make frozen yogurt. There was a backup plan, provided by the lovely Sara, in case I failed to find the pieces to the ice cream maker, but luckily some considerate angel (probably myself, actually) placed them all together in one place--near the freezer, no less! And anyway, Chloe ate all the bananas.
Aloha, friends.
*I've said this before, and I will almost certainly say it again: I shudder to think of what life would be like without that website.
**Written by a friend of a friend! And well written, and entertaining to boot!
***In case anyone noticed and was tempted, don't hate on Lilo and Stitch. It was a good movie, and this is a good dance, and the source (assuming they made up the dance for the movie, which they probably did not) isn't the point anyway.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday(s) with Marie, which sounds very similar to Morrie.
The only thing I've eaten from my house today is an ice cream sandwich, just now. This morning Jack and Mom and I went out to breakfast/brunch at the Paradise Diner, and I got something other than steak and eggs! I am so proud of myself.* Then I worked through lunch time, came home and ate my breakfast leftovers, and then met Emily for dinner at Champp's. (Champps?) The spelling and the name are stupid, but the food was pretty good. I got a salad**--I am proud of myself again!
At breakfast, I was reading the Land O' Lakes single-serving butter package, and it said that the product within consisted of 44% vegetable oil spread, and 4% sweet cream butter. If anyone has any idea what makes up the other 52%, please speak up. All I know is that it's not trans-fats ("zero trans-fats!"), so I guess that narrows it down a little.
I hadn't realized it at first, but evidently before Jack's party someone put up the solar yard lights that my dad and I got for my mom last mother's day. They look alright, though they aren't very bright. They're sort of dim and orangey, but they show where the walkways are and such. My mom calls them "the Narnia lights," and she loves them, which makes me happy.
Also, we have the cars back! All of them! Hopefully we'll get a good seven days or so before one of them breaks down again--hopefully that'll be enough time to pay my uncle back for fixing them.
*I have a very hard time ordering breakfast food anywhere without ordering steak (medium) and eggs (over easy) with hash browns. So the three egg special with bacon and home fries this morning was a big step for me.
**It was a cobb salad. I have never had one of those before, but it was pretty good. Also, it reminded me of the famous line from Talladega Nights--"I found a whole rat in my cobb salad! Applebee's has rats!"
At breakfast, I was reading the Land O' Lakes single-serving butter package, and it said that the product within consisted of 44% vegetable oil spread, and 4% sweet cream butter. If anyone has any idea what makes up the other 52%, please speak up. All I know is that it's not trans-fats ("zero trans-fats!"), so I guess that narrows it down a little.
I hadn't realized it at first, but evidently before Jack's party someone put up the solar yard lights that my dad and I got for my mom last mother's day. They look alright, though they aren't very bright. They're sort of dim and orangey, but they show where the walkways are and such. My mom calls them "the Narnia lights," and she loves them, which makes me happy.
Also, we have the cars back! All of them! Hopefully we'll get a good seven days or so before one of them breaks down again--hopefully that'll be enough time to pay my uncle back for fixing them.
*I have a very hard time ordering breakfast food anywhere without ordering steak (medium) and eggs (over easy) with hash browns. So the three egg special with bacon and home fries this morning was a big step for me.
**It was a cobb salad. I have never had one of those before, but it was pretty good. Also, it reminded me of the famous line from Talladega Nights--"I found a whole rat in my cobb salad! Applebee's has rats!"
Sunday, January 3, 2010
2010: first reflections.
David visited for a few days somewhat before and then a few days after Christmas, around New Year's. Dammit, I'd marry him today if he would have me. But now that I have finally just, just given myself permission to fall in love with him (I mean, let's not rush things--we've only been together two and a half years), he doesn't want to get married anymore. I don't really understand why. He says he's not been the person he wants to be, and I know that when he's feeling bad, low on psychological energy I guess, thinking about this tears him apart. And he's uncertain of everything. He has been thinking about breaking up and if that's what he needs to do then so be it, but why? I don't understand. I feel like this is karmic payback for all the time/times he wanted to get married, and I was too busy being angsty and depressed to commit to even staying with him through the end of the week. We went for a walk today, and I was sure I'd be single by the time we got back to the house. I wasn't, and I'm not, but I've spent a lot of time today fighting off tears. I am ok, but sad.
The fact that I am ok though is an honest-to-God miracle*. My new strategy this new year for dealing with depression is, I guess, not to take it so seriously. I'll still feel sometimes, I am sure, as though life isn't worth the trouble, and everything is too heavy to carry. There will still be days when the air is so thick with despair that I can't breathe. But I am going to try not believing it. Not buying it. Deciding that despair is a lie.
(Resolutions: Be honest. Give yourself permission to be in love, to be angry, afraid, joyful, depressed... to feel, without embarrassment or despair. Do not live out of obligation.)
Tonight we went to my Godmother Susan's** annual Christmas party, and it was really nice. I talked some with my cousin (first cousin once removed, actually) Will, and he wants me to email him some poems. He is going to consider participating in the Friday-poems project I abandoned earlier in the fall. I talked with his kids too, Meghan (Chloe's age--18) and Tyler (15), and that was nice. And another cousin, Lee, was there with her husband Randy and their daughter Bella, who is four and adorable. She is sweet and seems homely at first (to me, anyway), but grows on you quickly. And she has such a forceful personality! I spent a good chunk of the evening reading and singing Christmas carols to her. She's a fun little girl. Not a lot happened. but it was really nice to be there. Nice to see people I haven't seen lately and don't see much. Fast away the old year passes. Happy new year.
*Yeah, no, for real. I am not-quite-continually shocked at the fact that I am not crumpling under the weight of the stress that would/should/could come from saying "no, but really, I want to marry you" to someone that doesn't want the same thing; someone who in point of fact is seriously considering leaving you. Holy crap, how am I still even breathing? But I am. I am still breathing.
**She is so wonderful. And her husband (who I always called "Big Bill" as a child and now do not call anything, because saying "Big Bill" at the age of 23 just seems weird) is so sweet. There are pictures in their house of them when they were in their twenties. There is one taken at the river I think, where everyone is looking at the camera, but Bill is looking at Susan. I think he's looking at her in almost every picture. They were both so beautiful.
But the point of this footnote originally was to mention that she found some pictures today of us together when I was maybe four, on a day when we broke up stale bread and put it into a basket, and went and fed the ducks at Byrd park, and then went to Maymont and pet the goats. They are such a treasure. She gave some of them to me!
And I am still breathing. (!)
The fact that I am ok though is an honest-to-God miracle*. My new strategy this new year for dealing with depression is, I guess, not to take it so seriously. I'll still feel sometimes, I am sure, as though life isn't worth the trouble, and everything is too heavy to carry. There will still be days when the air is so thick with despair that I can't breathe. But I am going to try not believing it. Not buying it. Deciding that despair is a lie.
(Resolutions: Be honest. Give yourself permission to be in love, to be angry, afraid, joyful, depressed... to feel, without embarrassment or despair. Do not live out of obligation.)
Tonight we went to my Godmother Susan's** annual Christmas party, and it was really nice. I talked some with my cousin (first cousin once removed, actually) Will, and he wants me to email him some poems. He is going to consider participating in the Friday-poems project I abandoned earlier in the fall. I talked with his kids too, Meghan (Chloe's age--18) and Tyler (15), and that was nice. And another cousin, Lee, was there with her husband Randy and their daughter Bella, who is four and adorable. She is sweet and seems homely at first (to me, anyway), but grows on you quickly. And she has such a forceful personality! I spent a good chunk of the evening reading and singing Christmas carols to her. She's a fun little girl. Not a lot happened. but it was really nice to be there. Nice to see people I haven't seen lately and don't see much. Fast away the old year passes. Happy new year.
*Yeah, no, for real. I am not-quite-continually shocked at the fact that I am not crumpling under the weight of the stress that would/should/could come from saying "no, but really, I want to marry you" to someone that doesn't want the same thing; someone who in point of fact is seriously considering leaving you. Holy crap, how am I still even breathing? But I am. I am still breathing.
**She is so wonderful. And her husband (who I always called "Big Bill" as a child and now do not call anything, because saying "Big Bill" at the age of 23 just seems weird) is so sweet. There are pictures in their house of them when they were in their twenties. There is one taken at the river I think, where everyone is looking at the camera, but Bill is looking at Susan. I think he's looking at her in almost every picture. They were both so beautiful.
But the point of this footnote originally was to mention that she found some pictures today of us together when I was maybe four, on a day when we broke up stale bread and put it into a basket, and went and fed the ducks at Byrd park, and then went to Maymont and pet the goats. They are such a treasure. She gave some of them to me!
And I am still breathing. (!)
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Weekend
I don't know what to say. What was the last thing I wrote?
We had a blizzard, or what passes for one in central Va. David left NoVa after work on Friday and drove down--it took him 9 hours. He didn't get here until 5:23 am. We talked some, went to sleep. I woke up at 8:15 to call in to work, and then couldn't go back to sleep. I went downstairs to snuggle up with David around 10:30 or something, and didn't sleep some more. It was infuriating. Later we made chicken salad (you know, for Susannah's engagement party, which got canceled) and later went sledding with Chloe and built an igloo in the woods. I mean, we didn't get a roof up, but we had an entryway and the walls were coming along well when the sun went down. That night Mom had the idea that since we were all snowed in we and our neighbors from down the street, Lael and Hartley, should bundle up and go Christmas caroling around the neighborhood. I know that's always looked down on in the movies/media, but it was fun, and in general people seemed to really like it. The downside though was that after having hot chocolate and milk and fudge at Lael and Hartley's house, we stayed and talked to them until after 11 pm, so we ended up being awake pretty late and then had to get up in the morning to shovel the driveway and walk and get to church.
Yesterday Mom and Chloe went to church early, because Chloe was Mary in the Christmas pageant, but David and Dad and I didn't get there in time, despite our best efforts. David did a pretty amazing job shoveling though--I really just went out and widened the path for my Dad so that he could get out and into the car, after David had shoveled nearly the entire driveway himself. (Perhaps we should invest in a second snow shovel.) After church Mom and Chloe got the car re-stuck, though luckily in the lower driveway. David and I were practically falling over and went to take a 40 minute nap that turned into 3 or 4 hours. While we did this Mom and Chloe (unbeknownst to us) were rushing around making gifts to give to family members at the Christmas open house we were late to. We got there though eventually, and it was nice, though we missed the gap I'd been planning on using to go to Sara's. (She gave me a really hard time about this today.) We went straight* from Carter and Kay's open house to the Hayward's caroling party, at which our cousin Ed plays jazz piano and everyone (after a healthy dose of mingling and grazing and light drinking) sings Christmas carols. We got home from that, I don't know when, late-ish, and David sat down and played his banjo a while. I took a shower. We went downstairs and snuggled up and talked a while, and then I (as seems to be my custom when I've been particularly down/stressed out) ended up having a minor breakdown right before I went upstairs to go to bed. He said something pertaining to the differences in the ways we, I guess in the ways we just are, and it touched on something I'd been worrying about too, and I just lost it.
I really do not like doing that, and I don't know why it keeps happening, but he's always really sweet about it.
Today we got up by mutual agreement around 8, and I woke up terribly sad due to said breakdown the night before, and we talked and I tried to get over it and we had breakfast. My car was encased in icy snow and refused to be dug out, so David drove me to work in my mom's car (his was not yet freed either, but he and my mom had gotten hers unstuck again), and that was really nice. Unfortunately, I have still pretty much felt like trash all day. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
Work was tolerable though, and my mom gave me a ride home. We bought some Christmas presents online and I checked email and such, and went to deposit my paycheck** at the bank. I really didn't feel like seeing anyone or doing anything but taking a bath and going to bed, even at 5 pm, but Sara and Brian are leaving for L.A. again tomorrow, so I went over there and hung out for a while. Sara gave me a really awesome book for Christmas (I can't remember the exact title, but it's something like "[Something] Uses for Everyday Things."
Susannah hit town today (which is why we didn't have the party for her yesterday) and she was there, and she came over after we left Sara's, and we talked a while. She'll be in town through Christmas, so that will be nice I hope.
I guess it's stupid to apologize to the internet at large for anything, so I won't. But since I have such an addiction to it, here is what I would apologize for, were I apologizing:
being so down. being so negative. being so dramatic and upset and angsty and confused and repetitive. overthinking everything. being so directionless and lost. being such a downer. being so shortsighted. failing to see all the beauty and joy in life, all the miracles, and seeing instead all of the pain and confusion and risk and danger and doubt. Isn't that stupid? It doesn't make any sense to obsess over shadows and wander in a maze of maybes when there is so much that is real and good. But there are things that are real and horrible, too. And sometimes I just can't see a way out. Not a good one, anyway. I just can't see a way into the air.
*at which point I realized that I had, in fact, left my phone at home.
**oh my gosh, so awesome. I haven't had one of these since August.
We had a blizzard, or what passes for one in central Va. David left NoVa after work on Friday and drove down--it took him 9 hours. He didn't get here until 5:23 am. We talked some, went to sleep. I woke up at 8:15 to call in to work, and then couldn't go back to sleep. I went downstairs to snuggle up with David around 10:30 or something, and didn't sleep some more. It was infuriating. Later we made chicken salad (you know, for Susannah's engagement party, which got canceled) and later went sledding with Chloe and built an igloo in the woods. I mean, we didn't get a roof up, but we had an entryway and the walls were coming along well when the sun went down. That night Mom had the idea that since we were all snowed in we and our neighbors from down the street, Lael and Hartley, should bundle up and go Christmas caroling around the neighborhood. I know that's always looked down on in the movies/media, but it was fun, and in general people seemed to really like it. The downside though was that after having hot chocolate and milk and fudge at Lael and Hartley's house, we stayed and talked to them until after 11 pm, so we ended up being awake pretty late and then had to get up in the morning to shovel the driveway and walk and get to church.
Yesterday Mom and Chloe went to church early, because Chloe was Mary in the Christmas pageant, but David and Dad and I didn't get there in time, despite our best efforts. David did a pretty amazing job shoveling though--I really just went out and widened the path for my Dad so that he could get out and into the car, after David had shoveled nearly the entire driveway himself. (Perhaps we should invest in a second snow shovel.) After church Mom and Chloe got the car re-stuck, though luckily in the lower driveway. David and I were practically falling over and went to take a 40 minute nap that turned into 3 or 4 hours. While we did this Mom and Chloe (unbeknownst to us) were rushing around making gifts to give to family members at the Christmas open house we were late to. We got there though eventually, and it was nice, though we missed the gap I'd been planning on using to go to Sara's. (She gave me a really hard time about this today.) We went straight* from Carter and Kay's open house to the Hayward's caroling party, at which our cousin Ed plays jazz piano and everyone (after a healthy dose of mingling and grazing and light drinking) sings Christmas carols. We got home from that, I don't know when, late-ish, and David sat down and played his banjo a while. I took a shower. We went downstairs and snuggled up and talked a while, and then I (as seems to be my custom when I've been particularly down/stressed out) ended up having a minor breakdown right before I went upstairs to go to bed. He said something pertaining to the differences in the ways we, I guess in the ways we just are, and it touched on something I'd been worrying about too, and I just lost it.
I really do not like doing that, and I don't know why it keeps happening, but he's always really sweet about it.
Today we got up by mutual agreement around 8, and I woke up terribly sad due to said breakdown the night before, and we talked and I tried to get over it and we had breakfast. My car was encased in icy snow and refused to be dug out, so David drove me to work in my mom's car (his was not yet freed either, but he and my mom had gotten hers unstuck again), and that was really nice. Unfortunately, I have still pretty much felt like trash all day. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
Work was tolerable though, and my mom gave me a ride home. We bought some Christmas presents online and I checked email and such, and went to deposit my paycheck** at the bank. I really didn't feel like seeing anyone or doing anything but taking a bath and going to bed, even at 5 pm, but Sara and Brian are leaving for L.A. again tomorrow, so I went over there and hung out for a while. Sara gave me a really awesome book for Christmas (I can't remember the exact title, but it's something like "[Something] Uses for Everyday Things."
Susannah hit town today (which is why we didn't have the party for her yesterday) and she was there, and she came over after we left Sara's, and we talked a while. She'll be in town through Christmas, so that will be nice I hope.
I guess it's stupid to apologize to the internet at large for anything, so I won't. But since I have such an addiction to it, here is what I would apologize for, were I apologizing:
being so down. being so negative. being so dramatic and upset and angsty and confused and repetitive. overthinking everything. being so directionless and lost. being such a downer. being so shortsighted. failing to see all the beauty and joy in life, all the miracles, and seeing instead all of the pain and confusion and risk and danger and doubt. Isn't that stupid? It doesn't make any sense to obsess over shadows and wander in a maze of maybes when there is so much that is real and good. But there are things that are real and horrible, too. And sometimes I just can't see a way out. Not a good one, anyway. I just can't see a way into the air.
*at which point I realized that I had, in fact, left my phone at home.
**oh my gosh, so awesome. I haven't had one of these since August.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Recycling
(As in, double-posting, from opendiary.com. Don't hate.)
It's been raining almost ceaselessly for three days and doesn't really show signs of stopping soon, and I have remembered that temperature inversions are the work of the devil. So there's that.
Living with my parents is still happening and still not awesome, and not having a job makes that still less awesome. I spend a lot of time looking forward to visits with David, who, when I am with him lately, almost inevitably makes me smile.
I was poking around on Sheenagh Pugh's website and trying to reconcile myself to the fact that she actually hates the poem "Sometimes," which I've got posted on my front page on Opendiary, when I saw her reference another poet: Jenny Joseph. (Ok first of all, what a name.) It seems that I'm in the business of liking one-hit-wonder poems, because I think this one is great. It's called "Warning." It pretty much encompasses* my dreams of pensionerhood.
*This is not true, because my vision also involves things like cats, and watching PBS all the time, and yelling loudly about "young whippersnappers" and cracking people on the head with my cane. And reminiscing about how when I was a girl, everything was so much better/people knew how to do stuff/I had it way worse than all you goodfornothings/we knew the value of a dollar/we ate misery for breakfast and liked it.
It's been raining almost ceaselessly for three days and doesn't really show signs of stopping soon, and I have remembered that temperature inversions are the work of the devil. So there's that.
Living with my parents is still happening and still not awesome, and not having a job makes that still less awesome. I spend a lot of time looking forward to visits with David, who, when I am with him lately, almost inevitably makes me smile.
I was poking around on Sheenagh Pugh's website and trying to reconcile myself to the fact that she actually hates the poem "Sometimes," which I've got posted on my front page on Opendiary, when I saw her reference another poet: Jenny Joseph. (Ok first of all, what a name.) It seems that I'm in the business of liking one-hit-wonder poems, because I think this one is great. It's called "Warning." It pretty much encompasses* my dreams of pensionerhood.
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
*This is not true, because my vision also involves things like cats, and watching PBS all the time, and yelling loudly about "young whippersnappers" and cracking people on the head with my cane. And reminiscing about how when I was a girl, everything was so much better/people knew how to do stuff/I had it way worse than all you goodfornothings/we knew the value of a dollar/we ate misery for breakfast and liked it.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Favorite Foods* (a work in progress)
chips and salsa (I'm not that picky).
peanut butter and honey sandwiches.
toast soaked in "soppins," aka juice from whatever meat was served at dinner.
...steak (medium) and eggs (over easy) with hash browns.
grits with cheddar cheese, bits of country ham, and salsa. maybe with some egg, too.
hard boiled egg smashed up with butter (or smart balance!), salt, and pepper.
ramen noodles, but with the water drained before adding the flavoring, and some milk and butter. (so healthy, right? I know.)
tuna salad with onion, apple, celery, pickle relish, mayonnaise.
black tea with too much sugar.
tropicana orange juice with calcium and vitamin d.
lahmacun and mercimek corbasi from adana.
fresh crab, straight out of the shell, with butter, old bay, or mayonnaise (preferably homemade).
*mayo haters need not apply.
peanut butter and honey sandwiches.
toast soaked in "soppins," aka juice from whatever meat was served at dinner.
...steak (medium) and eggs (over easy) with hash browns.
grits with cheddar cheese, bits of country ham, and salsa. maybe with some egg, too.
hard boiled egg smashed up with butter (or smart balance!), salt, and pepper.
ramen noodles, but with the water drained before adding the flavoring, and some milk and butter. (so healthy, right? I know.)
tuna salad with onion, apple, celery, pickle relish, mayonnaise.
black tea with too much sugar.
tropicana orange juice with calcium and vitamin d.
lahmacun and mercimek corbasi from adana.
fresh crab, straight out of the shell, with butter, old bay, or mayonnaise (preferably homemade).
*mayo haters need not apply.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Is it even okay if I don't paragraph my letters?
Writer's block is an issue here, in my world. I'm sure I'm not the only one who loves to write, but runs out of things to say as soon as there's a blank window open. For me I gotta say that writing, in this sense, is a lot like life. I am full of fantastic ideas right up until the second that I want to present them, and then they are gone. I am also full of lines and ideas as soon as the moment for them has passed. I know I'm not the only person with this problem, but at the moment I'm reminding myself of Jon from the Garfield comics.
Here I'm hoping to take the pressure off, chill the heck out, and write what I'm thinking. Originally I was planning to title this "what to expect (when you're expecting)," meaning not in pregnancy, but in life. I don't have a good reason for changing my mind, except that it felt too strange. Despite the fact that I hope to be a mother someday, thinking of pregnancy (and especially childbirth) makes me rather nauseated*. Euphoranges was the next idea, and bleuphoria, bluephoria, bleuphoranges, youfouryeah, youforyeah, oophoria... I'm already embarrassed by them--I try to remind myself (when I remember) to stay the hell away from title gimmicks. It's obviously a serious weakness of mine. The thought, though, was that I love orange, I love oranges, and I was thinking of Anne Sexton's poem, "Words." The line "daisies and bruises" is from that poem:
"Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair."
But to explain why I liked the idea of euphoria, I'll show you some definitions from dictionary.com:
1. a feeling of happiness, confidence, or well-being sometimes exaggerated in pathological states as mania.
2. A feeling of great happiness or well-being.
and my two favorites,
3. 1727, a physician's term for "condition of feeling healthy and comfortable (especially when sick)," and
4. a feeling of well-being or elation; especially : one that is groundless, disproportionate to its cause, or inappropriate to one's life situation.
I feel that a lot of the time, this could be applied to me. And at times when it couldn't, I wish it could. I pretend or tell myself that it could. I am thinking, though, particularly of a migraine I had a couple of weeks (or so--my sense of time in these situations is horrendous) ago. I didn't vomit that time, which was nice, but I was utterly miserable for an evening, and then suddenly the skies cleared, and the headache was gone. (This is usually how my migraines go, I think.) I felt completely fantastic. I felt like I could fly. I felt like leaping off the sofa and dancing around the room, but in the interest of caution, I stayed on the couch and finished my tea. My sister laughed at me. Incidentally, this is also my reaction when my liver finishes (or, possibly, nearly finishes) metabolising all of the alchohol that has been deposited into my bloodstream. I have been known to spring at 4 AM from my spot on the floor, accidentally waking those around me in my--you guessed it--euphoric state.
The blog url I have now explained, and the blog title (which took even longer to settle on) is from an E.E. Cummings poem:
"i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)"
As you may have noticed, I have a thing for poetry. Other poems considered for the title and url include "Michelangelo's Seizure," "Monet Refuses the Operation," "God Says Yes To Me" (which furnishes the title for this post), "My Grandmother Washes Her Feet," "This Is Just To Say--," "Still I Rise," "Phenomenal Woman," "anyone lived in a pretty how town," "The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower," and "If a poet should ask me how I make a poem," which I like to refer to as "the pterodactyl pie poem." I never have been able to find its real name. By the way, all of the above, excepting "My Grandmother Washes Her Feet," are in the public domain. And you should read them.
I really do have a thing (for poetry. And parenthesis**). I like to write poetry too, and people say it's good, but who's ever written a poem and had their family and friends tell them it was terrible? I mean, really. Anyway I'm lazy and shy, and generally self-satisfied whenever I'm not battling--or buried in--self-loathing a-la Anne Lamott. That was a lot of dashes and hyphens and Ls.
I've taken all afternoon to write this entry (off and on) in Notepad, and now I've forgotten what else I wanted to say. But, read poems! I guess I can settle for that. Or just READ, in general.
*Despite the popularity of (and my love for) the word "nauseous," I have had to essentially drop it from my vocabulary since learning that it actually means "causing nausea." Ignorance is bliss. Misery loves company.
**Sometimes I am embarassed by this, but you know what? I am in good company***. I hear that Tolkien was parenthesis-obsessed, too. (So there.)
***While I'm on the topic of obsessions and good company, I'd like to say that I have gained my love of tangential footnotes from the great Terry Pratchett. Please, if you only do one thing this year, read him.
Here I'm hoping to take the pressure off, chill the heck out, and write what I'm thinking. Originally I was planning to title this "what to expect (when you're expecting)," meaning not in pregnancy, but in life. I don't have a good reason for changing my mind, except that it felt too strange. Despite the fact that I hope to be a mother someday, thinking of pregnancy (and especially childbirth) makes me rather nauseated*. Euphoranges was the next idea, and bleuphoria, bluephoria, bleuphoranges, youfouryeah, youforyeah, oophoria... I'm already embarrassed by them--I try to remind myself (when I remember) to stay the hell away from title gimmicks. It's obviously a serious weakness of mine. The thought, though, was that I love orange, I love oranges, and I was thinking of Anne Sexton's poem, "Words." The line "daisies and bruises" is from that poem:
"Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair."
But to explain why I liked the idea of euphoria, I'll show you some definitions from dictionary.com:
1. a feeling of happiness, confidence, or well-being sometimes exaggerated in pathological states as mania.
2. A feeling of great happiness or well-being.
and my two favorites,
3. 1727, a physician's term for "condition of feeling healthy and comfortable (especially when sick)," and
4. a feeling of well-being or elation; especially : one that is groundless, disproportionate to its cause, or inappropriate to one's life situation.
I feel that a lot of the time, this could be applied to me. And at times when it couldn't, I wish it could. I pretend or tell myself that it could. I am thinking, though, particularly of a migraine I had a couple of weeks (or so--my sense of time in these situations is horrendous) ago. I didn't vomit that time, which was nice, but I was utterly miserable for an evening, and then suddenly the skies cleared, and the headache was gone. (This is usually how my migraines go, I think.) I felt completely fantastic. I felt like I could fly. I felt like leaping off the sofa and dancing around the room, but in the interest of caution, I stayed on the couch and finished my tea. My sister laughed at me. Incidentally, this is also my reaction when my liver finishes (or, possibly, nearly finishes) metabolising all of the alchohol that has been deposited into my bloodstream. I have been known to spring at 4 AM from my spot on the floor, accidentally waking those around me in my--you guessed it--euphoric state.
The blog url I have now explained, and the blog title (which took even longer to settle on) is from an E.E. Cummings poem:
"i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)"
As you may have noticed, I have a thing for poetry. Other poems considered for the title and url include "Michelangelo's Seizure," "Monet Refuses the Operation," "God Says Yes To Me" (which furnishes the title for this post), "My Grandmother Washes Her Feet," "This Is Just To Say--," "Still I Rise," "Phenomenal Woman," "anyone lived in a pretty how town," "The Force that Through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower," and "If a poet should ask me how I make a poem," which I like to refer to as "the pterodactyl pie poem." I never have been able to find its real name. By the way, all of the above, excepting "My Grandmother Washes Her Feet," are in the public domain. And you should read them.
I really do have a thing (for poetry. And parenthesis**). I like to write poetry too, and people say it's good, but who's ever written a poem and had their family and friends tell them it was terrible? I mean, really. Anyway I'm lazy and shy, and generally self-satisfied whenever I'm not battling--or buried in--self-loathing a-la Anne Lamott. That was a lot of dashes and hyphens and Ls.
I've taken all afternoon to write this entry (off and on) in Notepad, and now I've forgotten what else I wanted to say. But, read poems! I guess I can settle for that. Or just READ, in general.
*Despite the popularity of (and my love for) the word "nauseous," I have had to essentially drop it from my vocabulary since learning that it actually means "causing nausea." Ignorance is bliss. Misery loves company.
**Sometimes I am embarassed by this, but you know what? I am in good company***. I hear that Tolkien was parenthesis-obsessed, too. (So there.)
***While I'm on the topic of obsessions and good company, I'd like to say that I have gained my love of tangential footnotes from the great Terry Pratchett. Please, if you only do one thing this year, read him.
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