Shit, I'll take it if I can have Henry

"I've got a magazine I just subscribed to coming to the house, so don't throw it away."

"A magazine."

"Yes, I subscribed to one. And I paid for it, so don't you throw it away. That's mah money."

"What magazine?"

"A home style one. I figure if I'm going to be working in the magazine industry, I should at least read one."

"Oooh, yes, you're my little--oh--what's the name of that... oh her name, her name... Ugly Betty."

"Tchah!"

"Is that it?"

"Ahahahahaha!"

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Elaine! Elaine!"

"Mum!"

"You're Elaine, you're working for Mr. Peterman! Ugly Betty does the fashion, I forgot, it's Elaine that did the--the--"

"You called me Ugly Bettyyyyyyy."

"I did not!"

"How dare you call me Ugly Betty! At least Anne Hathaway!"

"Oh I'm a sleepyhead, you know where I'm going with this."

-- 11:49 AM

Trajectory of thought for the week, as narrated by, say, my dog

Home. Home. Home.

Home home.

Fire!

Home. Home.

...Fire?

Cake?

Paper?

Read read read.

Home home. Home.

Caaaake?

Read read. Read read. Tom Jones. Read read.

SLEEP. SLEEP. HOT. HOT.

Read.

Home home.

Paper?

Free Swedish Fish?!

Home home. Home.

-- 04:04 PM

177

"#465. I will be waiting a very long time."

"Ouch, I hope you brought something fun to do."

"I think I will just sleep."

"Have you ever been put on a jury panel before?"

"Yes, the last time, six years ago. Now I'm back again. And after this one, maybe I can do one more time and then that's it, because then I am too old."

"Really?"

"Yes, 70 is too old. I am 66 now."

"No you're not! Are you really? You're 66?"

"I am! Why?"

"You do not look 66. You look so much younger than that."

"A lot of people say that to me."

"That's because a lot of people wish they could look that much younger."

"I don't know, I just try to stay happy and fit. I don't worry about anything. Worry puts the wrinkle in the face."

-- 03:10 PM

Article the first

Just so we're all on the same page, and just in case I am too afraid to go through with it when the time comes and I need some written evidence that will force me: If I have to get a flat next year, I will get one that allows animals, and I will bring Moses. Amid everything I would like there, the things I hope to find there, I just can't see myself looking out a window that he isn't in. Also, I just kind of really miss his goofy little face right about now.

-- 05:51 PM

Mid-SAD

There are days like these, when all I've been waiting for has passed, that I lay down and listen to the music I used to listen to, beg my heavy head to sink me into the mattress and down below, think that the color of the day is going to be all I see when I'm gone, and remember why I felt the way I felt when I felt the way I felt.

-- 05:21 PM

It's three hours into the weekend, which means...

I am honestly surprised that I am allowed a plus-one at the wedding, but I don't know if I feel any better about it. One option insults, the other embarrasses.

How can this continue?

-- 08:07 PM

"So when I got home I thought I'd wright This story..................."

Yesterday was my grammy's 79th birthday, so my mother and I took her and Grampy out to lunch. We came bearing candies and pastries to last a lifetime, but really, I came out with the better present.

"I've been waiting 50 years to give you this," she said, and handed me a bag containing this framed story that my mom wrote when she was eight years old. It's about being lost in the woods with her friends, the crying and praying they did, and the eventual liberation. It's exactly the type of thing I would write in fourth grade, in the bright blue folders Mrs. Ritchie gave us--adventures and harrowing experiences in the woods of the golf course, the times Steph and I never thought we'd make it out alive.

To me, this is just about the neatest thing I've ever gotten. It's so old and so battered but it stands out on my desk from anything else, and I feel like it's one step closer to my dream shelving unit (because I have one, you know). I've also just ordered a photo of Lisa's that I'm extremely excited about, because I've been staring at it for almost four years now and thinking, "This needs to be a part of my place."

Sentimentality. I has it.

But here is a relic of my mother in her youth, and had Grammy not saved it all these years and uncovered it from a box, it's a part that would have never been seen again. Because it hasn't. I thought the frame was incredible, but all she said was, "Oh, yes, I remember that day exactly," and nothing about the reflection. We make up stories and songs all the live long day, but she immediately forgets them. She doesn't write or read or make anymore. Will I be like that? Will I someday look around at all the things I've collected in my place, the frames and books and trinkets and statuettes, and say, "I've always wanted to just throw out everything. Everything on a horizontal surface, I want gone." Will I ever reach a point when I officially detach from my eight-year-old self and the things I cherished then, and give away an antique Smith-Corona typewriter just because they aren't used anymore (ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!!)?

I'd like to say no, but when she was my age, my mom did everything that I do now: writing, photography, knitting, crocheting, sewing, traveling. I don't want to ever be able to look around at the things I've attached value and purpose to and think, This means nothing to me now.

-- 12:42 PM

Cryptic #4

It's not so much "I don't think I'll ever feel close to you until you know about it."

It's more like "I don't think I'll ever feel close to you until you ask about it."

If you think I tell you everything, I don't.

-- 12:04 AM

Give her hell from us, Peeves

There are two things in this world that immediately ruin my day without exception, and they both happened before 10 o'clock today: other people's hair and crossing the street.

Exhibit A: Your hair is disgusting to me. I admire it from afar, I obsess over it, I wonder if you use any products and what sorts of products I should use, but keep it the fuck away from me. I mean it. If that thing touches me, I'm going to strangle you with it, except I'm going to first put on gloves and sunglasses and then duct tape my own mouth because God help us all if it gets in my mouth. Finding someone else's hair on my person is like finding out that someone pooped in my shoe and I somehow didn't know about it until I put my hand in it later and thought, THIS DOESN'T FEEL FAMILIAR.

There are a few people in this world whose hair I could bear being near, but they are so few and far between that I can't even think of who they are, only that I am vaguely aware that the thought has crossed my mind at some point or another. But if you read this website, it is not you. And if you sit in front of me in class, I am GUARANTEEING IT IS NOT YOU. My issues with this girl stem from the fact that she never seems aware of things going on around her, particularly in the way of a sign up sheet being passed around. She'll be the first person in our row to get it, and then pass it to her left, because fuck tradition, right? Like why would you think that's the way it's supposed to go? Where has there ever been a classroom in which a teacher has asked you not to pass back but to pass to the SIDE enough times that you just assume this is the norm?

She has long red hair. It is not hair that I admire, even from afar. It began with a single strand on my desk that was clearly detached from her scalp but not quite from her head, and I considered gathering my sleeve around my fingers and just removing it for her. But then. She tossed her head back. She's the sort of person who wants her hair behind her shoulders, apparently, or at the very least ALL OVER MY DESK. And she just kept swinging it by tilting her head to the left and to the right and every time it crept back farther and farther, until it was literally halfway onto my desk and I was huddled in the corner of my seat, writing on the arm of the desk, trying not to gag. Every time she tilted her head, I had a physical reaction where I jerked back and rolled my eyes and went, "Tcheh!" I'm sure someone must have noticed, as this went on for an hour and a half.

Exhibit B: I used to have my mom loop around busy-ish roads like Main St. so that I could just get out and get on the sidewalk rather than having to cross the road. I did this every time she brought me to my guitar lessons, because I really don't like the sensation of parading across like I'm very important. I don't like the sound of a car accelerating just as I get out of the way (I also used to make my mom wait until I got in the car before she turned the ignition).

There are exactly three streets within the BC campus, and all of them are littered with crosswalks. You, little seafoam green jalopy, decided to arrive just as 9 o'clocks were getting out and students were heading for brunch. How can you think that you are not going to have to stop for someone? More importantly, how can you think that if you slow down and someone gives you the thank-you wave that you should probably speed up? I did the most exaggerated double-take ever as you just barely came to a halt right next to me (and not even! that was not a complete stop!), because I refused to believe that you were just going to keep going when I was already in the middle of the road.

These back-to-back series of events have so thoroughly ground my gears that I'm just not going to go to my 1:30. Everything can suck it.

-- 11:18 AM

Check, check, check

What keeps happening is that I think about all the things, things, things I need to do, and I get so overwhelmed that I just do crossword puzzles instead. I've refrained from writing about anything too in depth lately, for reasons I know and reasons I don't, but at this point, I really can't afford to glaze over the details anymore. Particularly when so many things are due within the next two weeks.

1. Obtain department signatures.
   
2. Obtain letter of recommendation.
   
3. Choose next year's courses.
   
4. Finish TCD application and photocopy.
   
5. Find out about visa requirements and proceed accordingly.
   
6. Review all internship possibilities in an orderly fashion.
   
7. Write cover letters.
   
8. Email those internships of interest and attend interviews.
   
9. Interview article source, students, and skater.
   
10. Become staff.
    
11. Finish Kim's website. For real. And make live. For real.
    
12. Read the short stories I've been half-assing.
    
13. Outline the various essays due at various times. Maybe even write them (!).
    
14. Fulfill my civic obligation.
    
15. Have zero fun.
    

That's all. I just needed to write that down so that maybe, maybe, maybe I could DO SOMETHING instead of sitting here for hours shopping on Sephora without ever proceeding to checkout.

-- 09:33 PM