I was so wrapped up in my own personal pain of that day that I missed the moment when a hummingbird whizzed by my head and into the flower bush. Missed moments like those frame me as self-involved and annoying. If I didn't have my head lodged so firmly(more) up my own ass, I would have stopped to listen for the whir of the wings and the flash of color. But I missed it and my sister had to point it out. Lame. (less)
We can't help but go back to our old song and dance, one we started before we knew how to talk. At this point, neither of us wants to and so we've begun fighting the urge to assume our old roles. I do my very best not to interrupt(more) her with some smart ass comment and she bites her tongue and folds her arms when she would normally reach across the table to set me right. We've been at this change for a matter of months, in part because both of us realize that loving each other is infinitely better than hating each other. It's still tough and we both find ourselves assuming certain body language when things get tense. We're getting better at it. Even just last night, tucked into bed as sisters should be at least a few times a year, we found ourselves pondering our parents' dance, and words like "children" and "broken" fell off our tongues, both of us registering relief that the other agreed. Obviously, it's easy to process with each other when we're far from the house we grew up in. We feel adult and more whole, saying that we're doing better and that we want a better world. I think part of it is saying out loud that we want more than terror and chaos in the family home and in the family mind. We're practicing love. (less)
The feeling of not being able to walk outside at night has me all bunched up. I am used to walking to the corner store and getting a bag of chips or even taking somewhat of a risk to get back home at 3am from a night out. It'(more)s silly but I like that freedom and here I don't have it. I don't walk around at night and I don't like it. I can't wait to live somewhere where being outside at night is part of things.
Sarah smokes entirely too much pot. She calls it "weeeed," because she's Californian. Waking up every morning with all manner of sounds in her chest, she recounts her night. Most of Sarah's friends think her odd for starting off her night with a long drag off a joint, but(more) in reality, it does quite the opposite to her brain, waking her up and sending energy zipping through her.
She cannot stop the zipping of energy or the smoking. It's electrifying. (less)
I find myself thinking about the next day's morning coffee cup as I finish the present one. Somehow I have built that perfect dawn moment, complete with the kitties swirling around my ankles, the bed wrinkles on my face and finally, a fashion mag I have only begun to(more) leaf through. Four sips in, the caffeine has taken hold and my love of the art found in design begins to pulse in the early light. I never studied the arts and I know next to nothing about what it takes to make a clothing line, but it just doesn't matter. Those few moments when I am utterly and completely selfish are some of my very best moments, on crack. (less)
Moony hates her swaddle. She looks at me like I've betrayed her every time we strap up, but in reality, it's the only thing that ensures her naps. She's not my baby, but we get to hang on a weekly basis, taking walks to the ocean and dancing in(more) the kitchen to Ray Charles and Bonnie Raitt. And they pay me. It's nuts. (less)
Kelly's tears hit our carpet tonight and I felt so bad for having caused them to fall. Holding off having a tough conversation, like tonight's, is worse than actually having the courage to approach an unapproachable subject; to talk directly into the face of an unapproachable person. I learned(more) the waiting is worse by waiting too long. And now, we have tears. I am usually the emotional one. I usually allow myself to get swept up in all the feelings and have a real lack of clarity. Not tonight.
In the end, living with a couple sucks. It sucks and it especially sucks if you moved in with a single person who then falls in love and can only really see their love.
This is obviously not fiction. And I obviously needed to process after all the tears. I apologize, dear reader, if this is the most lame trigger you have read today/this month/this life. Today there were tears and they were tears of real confusion and sadness brought on by my own words. It makes me sad to have made them fall. However, the fact that this conversation is behind me, if not us, is a very real relief.
So thank you for your patience and trust that my next entry will not be so real. More fiction to come. Ha. Ha. (less)
Typing on typetrigger makes a girl want to wear a tight skirt, short and sparkly. Typing on typetrigger makes a girl want to wear a short, tight, sparkly skirt with good black thigh high boots made for dancing. Typing on typetrigger makes a girl look around and realize she's(more) typing about typing on typetrigger on a Friday night with the full knowledge that the short, tight sparkly skirt is hanging in her closet, waiting for Saturday night. (less)
It occurred to Kelly yesterday that she might want to invest in some new fuggs, what with the coming cold months. She spent a few minutes looking around the interwebs for a good source, but realized hitting the street would serve her much better. Being vegan, she had committed(more) her feet to non-leather uggs out of principle. Plus she was tight fisted. Her money, in her opinion, was better spent on booze and drugs and maybe hired companionship. She knew that it alienated her from her meat-eating, monogamous, straight- edge friends, but she was, in fact, happier alone.
She found what she had been looking for in a discount shoe warehouse nowhere near the quaint downtown area most wandered. Deciding on a teal pair of fuggs, she donned them straight away, waltzing out of the store and off to the Office Depot to buy erasers and pencils to match them.
Kelly was happy with her self, with her purchases and her solitude. It all suited her so well. (less)
You are first in line at the Old Navy check out when Juan says hello from behind you. You haven't seen him since Chile and all the fun there. The fun was very fun, but seeing him here makes you feel weird and itchy. You say hey and attempt(more) to get away, mumbling something about needing new turtlenecks.
He is embarrassed and moves away from you.
You are embarrassed too. You buy turtlenecks, two of them. You don't need turtlenecks. (less)
We were in the midst of the DSM IV, studying personality disorders when the topic of narcissism came up. I was the first scholar to admit the existence of a narcissistic strain in my family and in myself. Someone next to me rattled off common behaviors that could be(more) deemed self-centric: make up, fashion, gossip, facebook, glitter. There were giggles all around. We had struck something.
What happened today that made me want to walk out of my boss's office was a the most simple of things: I suck at my job. She knows it. I know it. She wants to help me but what happened today made me want to get into my little(more) red honda, buy a six pack of road sodies and head for home. I didn't, which means I get to wake up tomorrow and put the kettle on to make my strong coffee, so that I can go back to the job that I actually really like. I wish I were better at it.
I wish also that I could write about something else tonight, but that's not going to happen, so I won't fight it.
Today was a day for loving an ass whooping. Not since high school have I taken myself to the gym, put myself on a bike and proceeded to lift weights until it hurt. But today was that day and I just got home to a bowl of roasted chicken(more) and sweet potato chips with extra olive oil and kosher salt.