:: The Freewheelin' Di Winson ::

:: Wednesday, December 31, 2003 ::

New Year's Eve Eve

Too many eves, but it's the night before the night before the new year (well, on the East Coast, it's already New Year's Eve day ... but I'm not on the East Coast, now, am I?), and God knows I struggle with those post titles as it is.

I tell my students not to worry about the titles. That a title is actually the least important part of a piece of writing. That you can have THE greatest title in the world, but if the writing itself is bad, it simply doesn't matter. That you can have a great piece of writing and a mediocre to crummy title, and you WILL get a good grade. A great grade.

Feelin' kinda strange. One of my daily Web stops has gone offline, and I should be upset, but I'm really not. Maybe it was time, who knows. Had a few things posted over there that I wanted to retrieve and didn't get a chance to, and that sucks, but ... nothing monumental. No great pieces of poetry or literature, just ... well, some of my stuff. But: Whatcha gonna do?

Can't cry over it. Just feel a little pang of sadness. And I made some friends over there, and silly me, I don't think to save e-mail addresses, but I know that the people I am meant to stay in touch with, I will.

I am feeling oddly apathetic about life in general at the moment. Just tired, mainly, and it's (almost) the end of another year, and if I had to rank this year in relation to my entire life, I don't even know if I could. Some days I feel completely lost, as if I have no real clue where I fit into the cosmic scheme of things. And then I wonder, am I doing anything CLOSE to what I am supposed to be doing? Professionally? Personally?

Anyone? Anyone?

Got a note from the woman who used to teach the college Sunday school class at my church. Where I attended Christmas Eve service last week for the first time in two years. Anyway, the woman is a writer, and she always seemed to like me because I was trying to write, also.

(I should preface the remarks she made in the note by saying that, earlier today, I had told myself, as I left work: "I have lost interest.")

I had sent the woman a Christmas card, along with a personal and cheerful Christmas greeting, and she replied by telling me it was nice to receive a card, but "it would have been nicer if you had reported some of your activities." And asked me how I feel about what I am doing. And asked me if I have plans to do other things.

And honestly, at this moment, I simply could not say.

Oh, and look, according to my computer clock (which a pop-up message earlier tonight told me COULD be wrong!), it's midnight.

New Year's Eve, officially.

What a rush.

:: Di 12:01:00 AM [+] ::
...

This one goes out to the one(s) I love.

Not sure exactly why that title just popped into my head. I was going to go with "Is it a new year yet?" but then Michael Stipe (which I nearly typo'd "Spite") & Co. were suddenly running — or, more specifically, singing — in my head.

And now I have COMPLETELY lost my train of thought.

And I know I wanted to wallow a bit, too, so perhaps I am trying to distract myself.

And I actually have to work in about half an hour, and I could really use a nap, but since I am incapable of napping when I know I have less than 30 minutes in which to nap ... ixnay on the apnay.

It's just that I read something this morning, and it reminded me of the level on which human beings are capable of connecting via this particular medium, and then it reminded me how much people are capable of hurting one another, and once again I was all sad and glad and mostly ... well, sorry. And wishful. And wistful.

Lemme turn back the clock and see if I can get it all right, this time ...

Nah. I would still manage to fuck up to just about the same degree I did. Only this time, maybe I would be a little more brazen in my fuck-ups.

But what do I know?

The only true thing that I know, at this moment, is that after you have gone so long without hearing the voice of the person you are most dying to talk to, you start to forget to imagine the responses she or he might have to the statements you make. You can no longer invent the answers to your questions, no longer anticipate the reactions.

Still, though, you can hear her voice. And her laughter.

Across the Universe

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they
Tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter, shades of love are ringing
Through my open mind inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a
million suns, it calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva

— The Beatles

And the version I have, right now, going through my head is the one sung by Rufus Wainright.

:: Di 1:51:00 PM [+] ::
...

Merry Christmas!

After an incredible past coupla days, I just managed to reread something from last month, and it made me realize that maybe I've misinterpreted silence, or that maybe I have been reading too much into something, and now I suddenly realize that, finally, there is no need to feel bad about anything anymore.

And, I don't.

And every relationship that is "meant to be," on any level, in my life, will be ... and any relationship that's not, won't.

So simple, really. Why must I sometimes try to over-complicate things?

(I never used to. There was a time in my life — a good, solid 2 to 10 years there [not sure exactly how long, but it was nice little stretch] — where I was easy as pie, easy as Sunday morning, easy as any cliché a person could dream up. And it was great.)

Anyway, no more. No more over-complication. After all, not everything is all about me.

Wow, just learned on the Food Network that a teaspoon was actually so named because it contains just the right amount of tea for a cup of ... well, tea! Who'd-a thunk it? Honestly, I never thought about it before. Ever!

: )

Wanted to ramble about holidays and stuff, but ... too tired, I guess.

:: Di 10:47:00 PM [+] ::
...

Short Sleeves & Rain

Oddly warm for a Dec. 22 night.

"Expect a lotta rain," Jim Rasor says. And definitely NO snow for Christmas.

Ah, he's not always right.

Received 2 cool presents today: A book about the Cubs' 2003 season, and Cold Mountain. Which I am looking forward to seeing. Probably not on Christmas day, but hopefully not too long after. And preferably not 'til I've read at least a few chapters of the book.

Although I never seem to read as much as I should ...

Got a job offer today. Actually, it's sort of a promotion/new position (heh) at my current workplace. Not sure they can pay me what I'm worth. Well, in fact, I KNOW they can't/won't pay me what I'm worth ... but will they pay me enough to justify me taking the new position and giving up my part-time gig?

We'll see.

_________ly (can't think of the adverb I wanted to use, just then), all the considerations of the present and "the holiday season" are preventing me from dwelling too much on the past. Normally not a problem for me, or at least it wasn't until the last couple of years. Starting with the new century, actually.

My own private Y2K meltdown.

(Some IM's are better left unanswered, she realized, nearly 4 years later.)

(Nah, I can't say that. Look at everything I've learned, how I've grown.)

I am a better person for everyone I have known. I honestly believe this.

Have I enhanced any of them, as well? Gosh, I hope so.

:: Di 9:52:00 PM [+] ::
...

Killer Movie Night

Yeah. Spent the evening flipping from Titanic on NBC to Bridges of Madison County on TNT, with a little Cold Case (CBS) mixed in. Talk about KILLER movies! Damn. And now, on TNT: Message in a Bottle. And me with a thing for Costner! Don't think I'll last through this one, though: Have to work tomorrow for the first time since last Tuesday.

Could I be LESS excited? Probably not.

Finished my Christmas cards, too, and, as usual, not a minute too soon. As it is, I'll be lucky if they get to their destinations in time.

As usual ...

:: Di 10:35:00 PM [+] ::
...

Life IS beautiful.

And no sooner did I mention it in here than I actually received the film itself from my best pal's brother and sister-in-law during today's birthday/Christmas party. Sorta thought I might be getting it because I put it on my "list" a few weeks back. Might have to watch it later tonight.

We celebrated 3 birthdays today: Deshea (15), Shane (9) and Shelby (4). Gave Shea a lava lamp; she said she liked it — "I thought it was going to be something embarrassing!" she admitted. Couldn't tell if Shane liked his Transformer (I believe it was one of the Optimus Prime series), but ... he probably did.

Shelby's comment was the best: "It's JUST what I wanted!" she exclaimed as she opened the Polly something-or-other w/lifeguard stand and various bathing suits. Then we made a "swimming pool" out of the bathroom sink.

More Shelby comments:

Upon finding the instructions at the bottom of the box as I removed Polly and her accessories:

"Look, it's money!"

Upon realizing it was NOT money:

"Look, it's instructions!"

Pretending to read the instructions:

"OK, now I'll tell you how to put it apart!"

Later, prior to departing for McDonald's Playland and Candy Cane Lane:

"Dad, can I take this [Singing Dora the Explorer doll] in the van with me?"

Upon hearing no reply from her father:

"Just say, 'Shore!'"

: )

:: Di 5:48:00 PM [+] ::
...

More

Ooh, Emeril just said, "Spinach and artichoke dip," so of course my ears perked up!

: )

Even though I know he can't POSSIBLY make it any better than MY spinach artichoke dip. MY recipe, straight off a can (bottle?) of Kraft parmesan cheese. Still, it's a few minutes 'til Seinfeld, so, what the heck?

Just watched Talk to Her. I have had the DVD for months now, and I'm not exactly sure why. I kept seeing this film any time I'd go looking for movies, and I'd pick it up, and read the back, and think, hmm, this looks sort of ... different, and then I'd put it back. And then, a few months ago, I bought it — along with Abre Los Ojos because, well, that's Vanilla Sky-esque and all — but I hadn't managed to watch either one.

Interesting film, I will say that, although: Subtitles? Ick! Fortunately, not a lot of banter in this movie, so it was fairly easy to keep up, but if there happened to be dialogue going on and I happened to hit the volume ... oops! The top line of dialogue was missing.

I believe the only other "foreign film" I've seen is Life Is Beautiful. Wow, that Roberto Benigni (sp?) was annoying as all get-out for the first half of that movie, but wow, what a great film! Matter o' fact, I need to see that one again; it's the kind of movie that sorta sneaks up on you, and about two-thirds of the way through it, you're like, wow. WOW!

(At least I was, anyway.)

Song in my head, right now: That piano solo toward the end of American Beauty ... after Lester has taken a bullet to the head, and all the reactions of the people in his life ... there was actually slightly similar music during one key scene in Talk to Her, so maybe that's what got me thinking of AB.

:: Di 11:16:00 PM [+] ::
...

Don't "mental health days" count the same as "sick days"?

If not: They should.

And on that note, the Christmas shopping is officially done, and I am once again over-extended, but I can't even allow myself to think about it. Seriously. After all, it's only a matter of time until my lucky break comes along, right? I mean, I could already be a winner of 84 million dollars, thanks to that impulse Mega Millions ticket purchase yesterday whilst getting gas at the Carterville MotoMart. And besides: My hibiscus bloomed yesterday.

Christmas is less than a week away.

I am in the midst of 5, count 'em, 5 days off, in a row. Started out as two vacation days Wednesday and Thursday, during which I could just feel that I was going to need a sick day today, followed by the weekend-before-Christmas weekend that is now upon me.

Deck the halls ...

Richard Belzer (John Munch) reminds me of a guy I know/used to work with named Clint.

What to do? What to watch? I am not used to having Friday nights "off." Nor am I used to being online when my Norton AntiVirus thingie starts up. Wicked!

I need to put on some music. Or a movie. Or maybe both.

Yet, I'm in the mood for a good, long chat. One that includes music and movies and deep, insightful observations on just about anything. And naturally, no one's around ...

*sigh*

:: Di 8:02:00 PM [+] ::
...

While you were shopping ...

Before I forget, must post the lyrics from this song I just heard on tonight's (taped) episode of The Shield.

All My Little Words

You are a splendid butterfly
It is your wings that make you beautiful
And I could make you fly away
But I could never make you stay
You said you were in love with me
Both of us know that that's impossible
And I could make you rue the day
But I could never make you stay

Not for all the tea in China
Not if I could sing like a bird
Not for all North Carolina
Not for all my little words
Not if I could write for you
The sweetest song you ever heard
It doesn't matter what I'll do
Not for all my little words

Now that you've made me want to die
You tell me that you're unboyfriendable
And I could make you pay and pay
But I could never make you stay

— Magnetic Fields

Man, I LOVE that show! And I really dug that song, too, played right at the end.

Anyhoo, big big shopping day today filled with all sorts of little happenings to make me smile.

Like the fragrance counter woman in Famous, who was trying to catch my eye from the moment I stepped into the store. I had 2 big shopping bags, one in each hand, and I purposely did not look her direction. Still, as I approached, she asked, "Would you care to try the new Dior blah blah blah?"

"No," I muttered and suddenly wished I'd also flinched and acted all freaked out or something.

I took the bags out to the car, and when I was tossing them into the trunk, I heard a car behind me, idling. Because I had a primo parking spot, and they coveted it. However, I was not meeting my shopping pal for another 90 minutes, so I slammed the trunk and crammed the keys into my pocket and sauntered back to the store.

(I did not look back as I walked, but I am confident that the driver was glaring at me.)

: )

Later, after the shopping excursion had moved to another locale, I sat in the car for a couple of minutes, listening to music. Unfortunately, the kid sitting in the Durango parked right in front of me insisted on pushing the panic button, setting off the horn, ever 30 seconds or so — right when I was trying to listen to "Lover, You Should've Come Over" by Jeff Buckley. I worked up a pretty fair amount of hatred for the kid in those few minutes, and then here came his mother, who glared in at him when he kept her locked out for a few seconds.

[Cue — or should that be queue? — Tootie from Facts of Life: "You're gonna be in trou-bellllllll!"]

I couldn't hear their conversation, of course — they were in their vehicle, I in mine, windows up 'cause it was cold outside, plus Buckley was hitting the really really high notes by then — but I could tell the mother was fussing at the kid. She inadvertently conked him in the head with her bag as she tossed it into the back, and I chuckled.

Then, as they drove away, the kid was looking out the window and just smiling ...

And suddenly, I absolutely adored that kid!

Purchase o' the day: A stuffed Stitch wearing a sweater with the word "NAUGHTY" on the front, bought at the Disney Store. I'm giving it to Aunt Janie. (Shhh!)

: )

:: Di 11:34:00 PM [+] ::
...

Misc.

My eyes burn.

Maybe from the cold wind today when I walked from and to my car. Walked on-campus. Darted into Huck's for Cokes and J.R.'s Fish Co. for food. And in-between, when I was on the verge of a nap, covers snuggled up around my chin, sleepy, sleepy ... and then the cell phone rang, and my eyes popped open, burning but open, and then unable to close again for sleep, just then.

Debra calls to say Bob is OK. Nauseous and dry-heaving from the anesthesia, an 8-inch scar on the right side of his neck, but OK.

(What the heck? A 3-hour surgery should garner you a decent-sized scar, right?)

Sometime during the night, I heard rain. Hard rain. Actually, it sounded like hail. Ping-pong ball-sized hail, or maybe actual ping-pong balls, like the kind that used to fall from the "sky" on Captain Kangaroo. The pavement is wet this morning, but when I ask a new co-worker if she heard the rain during the night, she says no, so I wonder if I heard actual rain, or rain only in my dreams. Or hail.

Two years ago today ...

I cannot allow myself to remember.

Because when I remember, I wonder if anyone else remembers. Namely she: Does she remember? Does her memory allow her to remember even one good moment, talking to me? Ever?

Was it actual rain, or rain only in my dreams?

No, it was December. It must've been snow. And snow makes hardly any sound, certainly not enough to be heard whilst I'm sleeping.

I remember days and weeks of looking forward to nothing but sleep. Because she was never in my dreams, and I never felt bad or sad or even glad, in my dreams. And then, when I would wake up, for those few seconds between sleep and awake when I wasn't quite conscious, wasn't thinking, really, I was aware only that it was morning and I was alive and I had to get up and take a shower and then BAM! I remembered.

Everything.

Switching gears ...

Which reminds me: Frasier was extremely funny tonight. Niles and Frasier trying to learn how to ride bikes. Classic Crains! (Or is it Cranes? Never really knew.)

I need to put more pictures in here. What's the point of having FTP-access if I'm not going to tack on a picture every now and again? (I'm mainly saying this because I ran across a cool blog today that had a photo with every entry. A good photo, too.)

:: Di 10:50:00 PM [+] ::
...

This Shirt

The shirt I have on smells like fruit-flavored Certs.

Which I never liked, really.

It's a Levi's flannel shirt. Red. The button on the right cuff is missing.

Today at work, my Secret Santa gave me a navy-blue fleece with OLD NAVY in yellow letters on the front. It fits great, and wouldn't you know, just the other day I was saying to myself, y'know, I need to get me another fleece.

Funnily enough, the woman who had my name is the woman whose name I had, too. Second year in a row that has happened — although it was a different woman whose name I had and who had my name, last year — but still. What are the odds?

(It's not necessarily odd that both years, it was a woman who had my name. Currently, and last year, too, my workplace was all-female. Which seems like it could be a good thing, but in reality ... it can be a pain.)

Last year, I gave a bottle of Bailey's and shot-glasses from Dallas, Las Vegas, Reno and St. Louie — part of my whirlwind mid-December trip — and received an As Good as It Gets DVD. And we both drank a shot o' Bailey's, right there at work. This year, I gave a Hallmark ornament ("Smittens" — snowmen who can hold hands because there are tiny magnets in their mittens!) and a framed photo of the girls at the office that my Secret Santa had requested.

Fa la la la la, la la la la ...

: )

:: Di 10:33:00 PM [+] ::
...

Cutter

His real name was Brian Plawer, but we called him Cutter. From that Cutter Evergreen commercial. We started quoting from it the first time Brian guided us down the Kaskaskia River.

"Hey, Brian, new aftershave?" someone asked.

"No. It's my new insect repellent: Cutter Evergreen," Brian replied, right on cue, and from then on, he was Cutter.

Cutter and his wife, Wanda, had taken on the task of taking our church youth group on a canoe trip. About 12 of the squirreliest members of our group — myself included — had signed up for the trip.

The Plawers gave us lessons on the j-stroke and the c-stroke, and instructions in various aspects of water safety, one evening at Lake Shelbyville, and a week later, we headed down the Kaskaskia. Cutter and Wanda in the lead in their green "Old Town" canoe, the rest of us crashing our metal crafts into each other as we made our way down the river.

Most of us zig-zagging along from bank to bank, occasionally getting tangled up in low-hanging branches or running aground on some half-submerged log.

And we played "Keep Away" with the suntan lotion and told jokes and acted out various TV commercials as we paddled.

"Hey, you've got our lunch!" Jack called out, imitating an Eckrich commercial of the day.

"We know!" Charles responded, and then whispered, "Row faster!" to his canoe partner.

(Charles was the only other person with his own canoe, a light-blue one that had apparently seen better days. Not unlike his family's boat, which had a huge dent in the hull from where his sister Margaret had rammed it into the dock at Lake Sara one previous summer.)

We camped overnight near Horseshoe. Kara, Teresa and I got in trouble for mixing it up with some drunken fishermen across the river during the night, and eventually we laughed ourselves to sleep.

Wanda taught us how to cook: Scrambled eggs in a cast-iron skillet, "hobo dinners" — hamburger, carrots and potatoes, covered by onions and sealed up in foil — over an open flame, cherry and peach cobbler (Jiffy cake mix and a can of whichever fruit you favored).

Next day, up at the crack — just when the sun came blazing through the ceiling of the tent, turning your cozy little home-away-from-home into a mini-sauna — and back on the river.

That night, we ended up camping just south of the Thompson Mill Covered Bridge. There, we discovered a huge oak tree (maybe it was an elm) with a rope swing. We all took our turn, swinging out as far as the rope would take us, then dropping into the river, letting it take us downstream a few yards before we swam safely to shore.

Karen became known as "The Masochist" on that swing. Three times, she swung out over the river in what looked to be a perfect glide, only to hold on a split-second too long, each time, and be dragged back a few feet in the water before she finally let go. (Her thighs were bright red after that third attempt. It was brutal.)

We sang a few verses of the required "Kum Ba Yah" while we sat around the campfire. We played Murder. Tee-Hee and I plotted ways to lure Roger and John out of their tent, where a hoisted-up burning picnic table would "mysteriously" fall on their heads. Rob picked up the worst case of poison ivy I've ever seen. We made S'mores.

Our excursion ended the next day, but this wouldn't be our last canoe trip with Cutter. He took us down the Kaskaskia a couple more times, and then we ventured over to the Black River in Missouri. One time, when I was in college, I returned home to join the h.s. group in a trip on the Current River.

Along the way, I got to know Cutter and Wanda and their 3 kids: Amanda, Miriah and Adam. Baby-sat for them a couple of times. Miriah and I had a special greeting.

"Hi, Di," Miriah would say.

"Hi, Miri," I would reply.

Eventually, they moved away, but they became active in their new church in Oakwood. And the kids grew up, and I kept thinking I'd see them again.

And then, suddenly, it's 1997. And I return from a trip to ... the Bahamas? Cancun? — somewhere tropical and somewhat exotic, and my mom is telling me that Cutter has been killed.

Not in a car wreck or any kind of freak canoeing accident, but by a bomb. While he and Wanda were working at their church, helping put together that week's newsletter.

A random victim of some randomly placed pipe bomb. Heard a noise, walked outside, saw a box sitting on the steps, moved the box, KABOOM!

(All kinds-a bombing going on this past week on network TV. Thursday night CSI and All My Children. Just got me thinking about Cutter, who died Dec. 30, 1997.)

:: Di 7:47:00 PM [+] ::
...

Snow Come Down

And come down it did, early this a.m., not exactly the 1-3 inches the weathermen predicted, but a suitable dusting, nevertheless. First snow o' the season! Jubilation, all around!

: )

For a while it quit, but by the time The Lovely and I were heading out to dinner and the mall, it was snowing steadily. Coming down, slow-motionlike, in big ol' flakes. And not those sloppy, wet flakes, either — which I really like, actually, 'cause they're so excellent for making snowballs and forts and what-not. It was coming down slow enough I actually think I might've been able to photograph it, but ... no camera, at that moment.

Song in my head: "Snow Come Down" by Lori Carson.

:: Di 11:48:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dangling Conversation(s)

I like to think I have to have just the right conditions in order to write.

Dark room, lit only by a couple of vanilla-scented candles and the computer screen. Music — preferably something I know well — playing on the stereo. Comfortable spinny chair, my feet propped up on the slat at the back of the desk or the plastic container full of pictures. Preferably late at night when no one is likely to call to interrupt the mood.

Although, if she should call ...

Well, then: Interrupt away!

: )

In all reality, though, writing is not that complicated. The hard part is just doing it, sometimes. Getting the words down on paper or on screen instead of simply letting them swirl around in my head.

So, now, with that in mind, here are the conditions for today:

Every light in the house is on. No Christmas tree lights because, heh, I haven't managed to drag out my mini-me tree just yet. Don't even want to, really, except for those late nights, close to Christmas, when I already know I'll want to sit on my couch, listening to "Pat A Pan" by the Steamroller and stare at the lights, letting my eyes relax and the lights go all blurry, and maybe snow will be falling, outside, and I will suddenly start to feel that "Christmas spirit" that I have been trying to feel ever since I was in first grade.

And Seinfeld is on. Syndicated Seinfeld, that is. Used to be, Thursday nights were my favorite because I knew, come 8 o'clock, I'd be watching a new episode. Now? There's nothing to look forward to, TV-wise. I mean, I've watched TV all day today, but it's done nothing for me. Food Network, mainly; it calms me, I've decided. Except for this new show I've watched twice with some woman named CeCe (sp?) Carmichael (sp?), and I can't quite decide if she's actually cooking or ... I don't know. She seems like she could burst into song, or maybe flames, at any moment.

: o

Pretty chaotic in here, for writing.

"Jerry! We've lost the fat man, and we're runnin' lean!" — Kramer

: )

My "Daily Beauty" for yesterday came from my friend Jake. His mom, who is a friend of mine and a co-worker, interviewed for a new job, and afterwards, she was telling Jake about the new responsibilities, benefits, etc. Then she asked him what he thought about it.

"Will we still know Di?" he asked.

"Well, of course!"

"OK. Take it."

: )

I woke up with that "Secret Lovers" song in my head. The one by Atlantic Starr that played when Cheryl and I were sneaking around, having this secret love affair because I was too afraid to tell my pals I had a girlfriend.

Wow, that girl put up with a lot of crap to be with me.

I mean, I know I'm worth it, but still.

I remember dancing with her to that song the night before I was leaving Orlando and she was staying. Our perfect little love affair was coming to a perfect end because spring break was over, and I was going back to school and she was staying there, permanently, because that's what she had planned to do — albeit a couple of months earlier, before she had broken her arm running to answer the phone. (Was it me calling? I don't think so, now that I think about it.) So she'd stayed up here a few weeks longer than she'd planned, and she and I got closer and closer, and then about a week before she moved to Florida, she asked me if I wanted to go with her — just for the week — and I went and it was great, and then I came home and she stayed.

And then she came back because she missed me. And that was not what I had planned, and I panicked, and I broke up with her. I knew, immediately, that I had made a mistake and that I had hurt her. And we drifted back together, sort of, but it was never the same, for her, and wouldn't you know it, just about the time I was feeling everything I'd been afraid to feel for her, earlier: She was gone.

I mean, she's still alive and everything. Back in Orlando, actually, and I saw her on AOL just a few minutes ago. Should've IM'd her to tell her about the song I was singing when I awoke.

Man, I was a pain, but she still would've appreciated me mentioning the song.

This, I know.

: )

Funny how my mind wanders when I start typing. I sat down thinking I was going to write about how my earliest musical influence was my stepbrother Bobby — although, now that I think about it, it was actually my mother ("Sugar, Sugar" and those red and black 45s) — and an unrelated story about this 89-year-old man named Cornell Neal who came in to talk to me today.

Old men and teen-aged boys. I do have a way with them.

:: Di 6:08:00 PM [+] ::
...

All the Right Friends, Part 2

Today, one of my favorite people in the world was a very good friend to me.

And she's one of those kick-ass friends, too — cute, smart, funny.

Someone who runs her own business and can make things happen with a simple phone call. (Power!)

She's also someone who doesn't keep count.

Mostly, though, what she did today was help me through an uncomfortable situation by making me feel as if it wasn't a big deal. That it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was.

And she was right, but I needed to hear it, and she was there.

And it wasn't just lip service, either, because she walked me through it and then was there for me later, to lend more of her expertise and support.

And friendship.

I was overwhelmed.

And hopefully, tonight I will get more than 4.5 hours of sleep.

: )

:: Di 8:38:00 PM [+] ::
...

Sunday Matinee

I am honest-to-God tearing up right now watching these last few lines of Meet Joe Black ... again ...

Susan: We know so little about each other.
Joe: But we've got time.

And later ...

Susan: What do we do now?
Joe: It'll come to us.

: )

And now I'm flipping over to A Few Good Men to wait for Jack to scream, "You can't handle the truth!"

Although, truthfully, I find it funnier when George Costanza says it!

:: Di 4:02:00 PM [+] ::
...

(Almost) Full Moon

So, tonight I am driving down the highway to pick up my "date" for the office Christmas party. And I am having a particularly good hair night, thanks to a little bit o' Dep, and I have on a new Ol' Navy button-down, Levi's and Doc's. I smell good, too, with a little bit of Curve dabbed on my wrists.

And speaking of the button-down (blue, sorta plaid): As I'm ironing it, I notice that there's something in the pocket. I'm thinking, hmm, maybe it's some of that tissue paper, so I pull it out — and it's an entire CUFF, kinda like it's been cut off one of the shirt sleeves (obviously not from this particular shirt, although the material is the same) and shoved in the pocket, "just in case" you're ever out and you get your shirt cuff cut off and you need an extra one (as IF you'd have a spare needle and matching thread, too, to sew it back on, but I guess that's beside the point ... or is that "besides the point"? neither sounds right, right now).

There are buttons on this spare cuff, though, but there are also extra buttons sewn just inside the shirttail, too, so I'm thinking: Why bother?

Anyhoo, as I drive I notice that the moon is almost full, and it's illuminating the sky the way the almost-full moon does on a cloudless night. And it's very chilly out — it's December, after all — but not so cold that wearing a jacket is mandatory, but I've got one with me, thrown into the backseat, just in case. And I have one of my Mannheim Steamroller Christmas CDs playing — not sure of the title, but it's the one with "Still, Still, Still" and "O, Holy Night" on it — and suddenly I feel better than I have felt in a couple of days.

And it reminds me of one of those nights when I was in h.s., and I'd go riding around with Jill or Shawn or somebody, and we'd end up somewhere in "the country." Talking. Laughing. Just generally goofing off. And for a few minutes, while I'm driving, I want to head out to the lake or somewhere, park my car and stare at the moon and listen to the Steamroller for the next couple of hours.

Or years.

:: Di 11:19:00 PM [+] ::
...

All the Right Friends

Today (hmm, well, actually, yesterday, now that I look at the clock) sorta sucked, mostly, and then, suddenly, it didn't. Still, I hate days when I have this gnawing, agitated outlook.

I hate days when I'm not in a good mood; I feel like I've wasted them. And you never get 'em back.

Tonight, after work, I return home and read my e-mail. Another note from Patti, whom I have known since I was 19. Half my life. We were such kids when we first knew each other: She from the suburbs (the city girl), I from Downstate (the hick).

I remember the night we went to Marty's, each of us with just enough money to buy one pitcher of beer. Patti bought a pitcher, and we drank it; I bought a pitcher, and we drank it. Then, just as we realized, sadly, that we were all out of money AND beer, these sorority girls came walking by our table, a three-fourths-full pitcher of beer in their hands.

"We have to leave, but we've got all this beer left. Do you two want it?"

We were as happy as we'd ever been. And quite possibly as DRUNK as we'd ever been, but that didn't stop us from polishing off that pitcher of beer and then stumbling home to our dorm just before dinner had ended.

God, I miss college.

Anyhoo, Patti's gem o' the day for today:

"Thinking of you and I: I read a lot. You write a lot. Together we'd make one great artist."

(I love you, Patti.)

: )

:: Di 12:28:00 AM [+] ::
...

Apathy is bliss.

But, admittedly, there have been times when I have tried too hard. With the whole friendship/relationship thing.

Nah, that's not true. I almost never try all that hard. Either I like someone and they like me, and we become friends for life (or at least from then on), or we don't. I've had this amazing good fortune in my life to find these people who are honest and true and good, and for whatever reason(s), they like me, too, and somehow, click! And that's it.

Once, though, I've tried too hard. And everything started out on even ground, and we really liked each other, but then I started to want too much. And it was difficult to tell what the other person wanted, at times, so I should've taken 3 "Mother, May I?" steps backward and possibly even run like hell, fast as I could, in the exact opposite direction ... but no, I don't like to give up.

If I think there is even a shred of hope in salvaging a relationship, I want to stick around to see if it can be saved.

I want to stay in the theater until the credits have all run; I want to make sure it's really over before I walk out.

This time, I've tried too hard. And I'm still trying. And I know, at practically every turn, I have made the wrong choice. Not necessarily what felt like the wrong choice — although, yeah, there was at least one hugely wrong choice, but it was kinda like one of those wrong left (or right!) turns you take whilst you're walking in the woods, and you keep thinking if you just keep going left (or right!), you might end up exactly where you're supposed to be.

And maybe THIS is exactly where we're supposed to be.

:: Di 7:06:00 AM [+] ::
...

And if nothing else:

Hopefully, at the end of my life, I will look back and know that if I ever had an issue with someone, a problem, whatever, I let him or her know about it. And if someone wronged me in some way, or treated me badly, or hurt me, I gave that person a chance to explain, and even apologize, if he or she were so inclined.

Because I have been there. The hurting kind.

Both sides, really. The hurter and the hurtee.

Sometimes, the silence hurts the worst.

:: Di 11:01:00 PM [+] ::
...

'Tis the season ...

Actually had a woman at work today tell me she'd rather hear a Kenny G Christmas CD than listen to me singing "Mack the Knife." I'd be lying if I said my feelings weren't hurt a little — NOT by the fact that she didn't want to hear me sing (what the fuck, I get THAT on a daily basis!), but how could anyone NOT want to hear a great song like "Mack the Knife"?

Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear ...

Preferably Bobby Darin's version. Actually, I'm-a-gonna hafta include the lyrics from this site 'cause it includes all the lil' "huh, huhs" uttered by ol' Bobby. Nevermind, I will link to it instead. (It's COOL to be linked!)

* Making mental note to make some template changes tomorrow ... or sometime soon *

My favorite part of "Mack the Knife":

Now on the sidewalk — uh, huh — whoo, sunny mornin’, uh-huh
Lies a body just oozin' life — Eek!
And someone’s sneakin' 'round the corner
Could that someone be Mack the Knife?

"Eek!" being my ABSOLUT favorite part!

: )

Anyway: Christmas.

I secretly laugh at the people who claim to have finished all their Christmas shopping by the end of October. I rolled my eyes at them back in May when I heard them say, "Ooh, you'll never guess what I found for _______ for Christmas!"

"You know, the world could end tomorrow," I actually said to one of my friends (can't remember which friend, now that I think about it; probably not a close friend), "and there you'd be, with all these Christmas gifts, and no one left to give them to."

I think thoughts like that, sometimes: What if the world comes to an end, and I still have, like, 11 rolls in a super-saver 12-roll pack of toilet paper or something? Two full weeks to go before the bottle of milk I just bought goes bad? Seven vacation days left? A couple of days 'til my birthday?

I think, maybe, that's why I sometimes tend to force the issue with people. I mean, if we like each other, let's spend time together. Get to know each other. Get intimate (and maybe even naked — or vice-versa) and get involved and get hooked and get mad and get over it and then get on with our lives.

Let's get busy.

Sometimes it just never feels as if there's ever enough time. And I feel like I'm one of the most laid-back people I know, but sometimes there's this incredible sense of urgency, and I wonder if everyone feels it. And then I notice I don't necessarily feel it with everyone or every situation or even every household item that's not even close to being depleted.

Just, sometimes.

So, I decide, today, on the one day of the week I don't have to do anything, once I'm done with work (at 10:30 a.m. — pretty good, even by my standards!), to wrap the present I'd gotten for the person whose name I drew for the gift-exchange at work (and it's not the woman who said she'd prefer Kenny G to me singing "Mack the Knife" — otherwise, I'd have spent the afternoon making WAV files and burning CDs of me, warbling away).

I reach into the closet for some wrapping paper (3 rolls, left over from last year), bows (a bagful! or is that "bag full"?) and gift tags (plenty), and I notice a Hallmark bag with a couple of Peanuts sculpture-thingies inside.

Can't remember when I bought 'em, but I know it was QUITE some time ago. One of them is golf-related (for Margaret), the other tennis (for The Lovely). I bought these items months ago with the intention of saving them 'til Christmas — and then I even managed to find them BEFORE Christmas!

: )

I totally rocked my world.

: )

Which means, counting those and the handful of items I've gotten over the last 2 to 3 weeks, I now have approximately one-eighth of my Christmas shopping done. And it's only Dec. 4, so, hopefully, there's still time.

Unless the world ends tomorrow

: /

Wow, just read "counting those" and suddenly thought of Counting Crows, and now I'm right back where I was hoping not to be: Thinking about one of my favorite online people and reminding myself that this is, indeed, December. And it's raining and cold and ... well, sorta perfectly fitting, somehow.

Let's get busy ...

:: Di 9:31:00 PM [+] ::
...

Tuesday Night

Earlier this year — what the hell, maybe it was earlier last year, I don't remember — I found the perfect birthday card for my pal Tee-Hee. One o' those "You know you're a redneck when ..." cards, and whenever I happened to find it (this year or last), her b'day was still several months away. So I filed away the card, and every time I would happen upon it, rearranging this stack or that, moving piles of stuff from one place to the next, I'd smile and think, HA! I can't WAIT to send her this card!

(Which makes me think it was last year that I bought the card. Seems like it's been a long time since I've seen it.)

Anyhoo, her birthday is tomorrow.

Naturally, I can't find the card. Anywhere.

And I should be looking for it, but honestly, I don't even know where to begin.

Plus, it'll be late, anyway. Perhaps I'll save it for next year.

(She will be 40 then. I'll still have 4 months left being 39. She loves when I remind her that I am younger than she is.)

: )

Got a lengthy e-mail from Patti this evening; matter of fact, I haven't even read the whole thing because I want to savor it. She had a baby in October (her 3rd child), so she's been a little busy lately. She's always busy, actually.

(Don't let anyone tell you "stay-at-home" moms don't work. She's done more each day by noon than I can sometimes cram into 3 days.)

She apologizes every time she e-mails — which is actually quite frequently — for not being able to e-mail more frequently. Hey, we went 15 years calling each other only on our birthdays, at Christmas and on the occasional blue moon, and seeing each other maybe once every 4 years, if we were lucky, before she FINALLY got online last year — which officially ranks among My Top 5 Memories of 2002 ... which might not be quite as big an honor as I make it out to be, considering I was in a horribly sad, self-indulgent, self-induced fog for at least 8 months out of the year, but it was one of the highlights in a mostly forgettable year.

So I'm grateful for those occasional bits of contact.

I had to smile at the part in this most recent e-mail where she told me, "Charlie was on the computer a good part of the day."

(Charlie just turned 3. He will know more about computers by the time he is 5 than we will know by the time we are dead.)

Technology. Gotta love it.

: )

:: Di 10:42:00 PM [+] ::
...

Bernie Gets His Mac On

OK, it's one of those rare moments that I am actually ahead of schedule, gettin' ready for work (what a difference 10 minutes can make), and God knows I don't wanna get to the office early — although those 40 minutes or so that I am alone, working in silence, are what I live for, professionally speaking.

And suddenly, while I was showering, I started thinking of that great scene from this week's The Bernie Mac Song where the kid was doing a (rhythmic?) gymnastics scene to the song "Eye of the Tiger" (ah, Rocky III, gotta LOVE it: "No, I don't hate Balboa, but I pity the fool!" — Clubber Lang), flipping that ribbon around. Anyway, the whole episode centered around how much Bernie wanted his nephew (?) to play basketball, but the boy preferred gymnastics instead ... and was pretty damn good at it, as it turned out. After Bernie went through the requisite teasing by his poker buddies and then was overheard criticizing gymnastics by his nephew, the boy quit the team. Naturally, Bernie eventually softened his view and by the end of the show accepted the kid's talent in this particular "sport."

Of course, the show ended with the boy displaying a genuine interest in members of the opposite sex — so, for Bernie Mac, all was right with the world.

*sigh*

Just like a CBS show last season, can't think of the name of it (not sure I've ever KNOWN the name of it — one of those shows about a pudgy, balding guy, his attractive wife and their 1 to 3 kids; in this one, Jamie/Jami Gertz plays the wife), in which the son decides to go out for cheerleading and is good at it but the father is appalled ... until, of course, he realizes that his son is attracted to girls.

And, again, all is right with the world.

: /

On a completely unrelated note:

I realized, later, that the "ohs" in the "Trapped" lyrics should actually be "oohs." For what it's worth.

And I adore this song:

deconstruction

we talked up all night
and still came to no conclusion
we started a fight
that ended in silent confusion

and as we sat stuck
you could hear the trash truck
making its way through the neighborhood

picking up the thrown out
different from house to house
we get to decide what we think is no good

we're sculpted from youth
the chipping away makes me weary
and as for the truth
it seems like we just pick a theory

and it's the one that justifies
our daily lives
and backs us with quiver and arrows

to protect openings
'cause when the warring begins
how quickly the wide open narrows

into the smallness of
our deconstruction of love
we thought it was changing
but it never was
it's just the same as it ever was

a family of foxes
came to my yard and dug in
so i looked in a book
to see what this could possibly mean

yeah cause there's fate in the breeze
signs in the trees
impossible tragic events

when forces collide
with the damage strewn wide
and holes blasted straight through the fence

oh the sky starts to crash
(into the smallness of)
the rain on the roof starts to drumming
(our)
and laid up like cache
(deconstruction of love)
you'll take on my list of shortcomings

and now the show starts to close
(the show)
i know how this goes
(starts to close)
the plot's a predictable showing

and though it seems grand
we're just one speck of sand
and back to the hourglass we're going

back to the smallness of
(into the smallness of)
our deconstruction of love
(our deconstruction of love)
we thought it was changing
but it never was

we're still in the smallness of
(into the smallness of)
our deconstruction of love
(our deconstruction)
we thought it was changing but it never was

our deconstruction of love

our deconstruction of love

— The Indigo Girls

:: Di 6:54:00 AM [+] ::
...

December

Yeah, it's here. The gladdest and saddest month of all.

I simply felt compelled to mention it, somehow. To someone.

:: Di 12:02:00 AM [+] ::
...

Early Christmas gifts ROCK!

Yes! Received The Essential Bruce Springsteen — which I thought was a double-CD, but turns out it's a TRIPLE-CD! — and The Gangs of New York DVD.

Early Christmas gifts fucking ROCK! (As I may have already mentioned.)

: )

And truthfully, I wanted the Bruce CD for one song: "Trapped." Which, as far as I know, was previously available only on the USA for Africa album, featuring all those artists singing, "We Are the World." (I think. I'm having a serious brain cloud at the moment.)

Anyway. LOVE this song. Always have.

Trapped

Well, it seems like I'm caught up in your trap again
And it seems like I'll be wearin' the same ol' chains
Good will conquer evil, and the truth will set you free
Then I know someday I'll find the key
Then I know somewhere I'll find the key

Well, it seem like I've been playin' the game way too long
And it seems the game I played has made you strong
Well, when the game is over, I won't walk out a loser
And I know that I'll walk out of here again
And I know that someday I'll walk out of here again

But now I'm trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

Now it seems like I've been sleepin' in your bed too long
And it seems like you've been meanin' to do me harm
But I'll teach my eyes to see beyond these walls in front of me
And someday I'll walk out of here again
Yeah I know someday I'll walk out of here again

But now I'm trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

Well it seem like I've been playin' the game way too long
And it seems the game I played has made you strong

Because I'm trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

I'm trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah
Trapped ... oh, yeah

I'm trapped

— Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band

:: Di 6:49:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dreams II

I am wandering through some hotel, and I find out that Laura Ingraham wants to go out with me. She and I hang out for a bit, talk a little, and then retire to our own rooms to get ready to go out later that night. For some reason, I end up having all kinds of problems attempting to shower (in a rather public shower, it seems), and later I stand outside Laura's room, talking to her, again, whilst wearing only a towel.

She ends up going out that night, late, but I decide to stay in.

: (

[I wake up for a few minutes but decide it's too early to be awake.]

The dream continues ...

Grandma Ginny is driving me up to the church, where I am going to assist my sister in helping with the first- and second-graders for Bible school. Before I get in the car, though, I notice that the window is down and the passenger side of the car is covered with plastic; apparently, the window has been left open during the rain, and somehow I am to blame. Grandma barrels through intersections, ignoring stop signs, and careens around the corners. "Grandma!" I yell. "This is ridiculous!" And then I feel bad because I know she's losing her mind.

She drops me at the church, and I help my sister. Laura Ingraham is teaching in that classroom, too, and I am all happy.

Laura likes me.

: )

:: Di 2:06:00 PM [+] ::
...

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night

Just watched Kissing Jessica Stein, and I have to say, VERY charming movie. Some excellent moments, and some very relatable moments ... if "relatable" is even a word, and, if so, if I am even close to having it spelt right. (Put it this way: I could relate to MANY of the moments in this film.) I fell sort of in love with the girl who played Helen, and I completely understood the premise and even could accept the ending ... kind of ... even if it didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted it to.

So, anyway, big thanks to Lisa J. for suggesting this movie to me way back when ... and props to me for finally managing to watch it.

: )

And last night, Nicole Kidman totally stole The Human Stain. So tough, but so fragile.

Tom is right. She's on fire. She's blazing!

Song in my head: "Trapped" by Bruce Springsteen. Here's hoping I get The Essential Bruce CD I put at the top o' my Christmas list!

: )

I am so in the mood to chat, and none of my chat pals are around. I hate when that happens!

(Where are the Bay City Rollers when you need 'em??!)

:: Di 10:54:00 PM [+] ::
...

A Thanksgiving Poem

I am thinking
I should
take up drinking.

:: Di 9:59:00 PM [+] ::
...

Rain & Sarah

Long day. Too much turkey. Pumpkin pie's a hit. Four-hour round-trip journey shortened to about 3 hours, 35 minutes, thanks to not much traffic and cruise set at 80 mph. Dark house. Long nighttime nap, which sorta qualifies as sleep, in my book. Tonight's TV: First viewing of Cold Case, an episode apparently based on the Skakel (sp?) murder, bits 'n' pieces of CSI and Friends episodes I'd already seen, final half-hour of The Shawshank Redemption, interview special with Amy Grant and Vince Gill.

"Get busy living, or get busy dying." — Red, from Shawshank

And now it's raining, and Sarah McLachlan is singing on the stereo, but not too loud (loudly?), so I can hear the rain, too. And tomorrow some friends of mine are getting up at 5 a.m. (!!!) to go shopping at Best Buy, Staples and Office Depot. Or is it Office Max? And I say: God help me if I EVER get up at 5 a.m., ever, to go shopping at any of those stores! Even during the Christmas season!

This CD is very good. Maybe not as hook-y as Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, not yet, anyway, but damn, how DOES Sarah do what she does with her voice? And then I saw an interview with her yesterday on Lifetime network, and I realized I don't think I've ever seen one before, nor heard her talk, and her speaking voice is very different from her singing voice. Which is odd but kinda cool, I think. Anyway, there are 10 songs on this CD, and that actually seems to be a perfect amount.

Of course, on that Steaming CD, there were only 3 songs, and I listened to only one of them: Her cover of "Solsbury Hill." Which, at times, I can't even listen to, but only because it takes me back to a time I can't really remember but will never quite forget.

On a related yet unrelated note: A few minutes ago, I had that familiar phrase, "Some things happen for a reason," running through my mind.

Except I gave it my own twist: "Some things don't happen for a reason."

Which can have many different interpretations, I suppose. My emphasis, at this particular moment, is on the words "don't happen." As in, no matter how much you think you might want them to happen, they don't, and there is a reason — or multiple reasons — why they don't.

And maybe, just maybe, you're better off. Even though you might not think so, at the time.

(Even though I might not think so. At this time.)

:: Di 10:33:00 PM [+] ::
...

Gobble, gobble ...

I'd like to bottle this day and save it for later, if only because I spent a grand total of 20 minutes — OK, actually about 3 hours, give or take the 20 minutes I devoted to carving the smoked turkey at the news office — doing actual work. Plus I have 4 days off ahead of me. Excellent!

The rest of the day was devoted to, in no particular order: Getting my hair cut (and for the record, I have been enjoying a GREAT hair day, from about 10:45 a.m. on!), straightening up mi casa, cooking a turkey (what is it with my sudden domestic tranquility?), running my best pal on last-minute errands, wrapping presents (baby shower, NOT Christmas), getting caught up on taped shows from the past couple of days (Blue and Shield — speaking of which, that white female officer is a hottie and has kind of a Hilary Swank thing going on, I noticed).

I shouldn't be tired, but I am.

My new favorite commercial is the one for Toys Backwards-R Us that ends with Geoffrey the Giraffe singing, "Someone's playing with toys, Kum Ba Yah!" I laughed OUT LOUD when I saw it a couple of days ago, and it still makes me smile, remembering all those church trips and what-not, singing various ditties and spirituals or whatever, feeling like a Christian and a dork all at once, plotting late-night adventures.

This replaces my former favorite commercial, the "Sunday! Sunday!" one with the guy riding around with his buddy in a new Dodge Ram "hemi" — whatever the hell THAT is (all I know is I have a 4-cylinder, but my car has good pickup AND front-wheel drive, so it gets around OK on snow and ice, and really, that's all that matters).

: /

"Dishonestly is disrespectful." — Me, sometime around 6:55 p.m. Tuesday

Yeah, I said that with a straight face. And tried to kick my own ass as I was saying it, knowing there have been times in my own life that I haven't even been able to look at myself in the mirror. Knowing what I know, about me.

Not many of those times, but yes, indeedy, a few.

:: Di 9:39:00 PM [+] ::
...

Baking??!



Yeah, my cat couldn't believe it, either.

(Gotta love the kitchen wallpaper, though, right? What can I say, the house is a rental ... a 13-year rental. Will I EVER know the joys of homeownership — which includes, as its root word, compoundly speaking, one of my favorite words to say aloud: homeowner. Mainly because as I am saying it, I get to say "homo." Hehe!)

Speaking of which: I bought some HOMO MILK today at Farm Fresh. (That's what it said, right there in big bold letters on not 1 but 2 racks of Vitamin D Grade A pasteurized/HOMOgenized milk.)

So I am the self-designated Baker of Pumpkin Pies, now that Grandma Ginny is gone. Got her handwritten recipe and everything, so ... we'll see.

(Any pie with a whole container of pumpkin pie spice can't be all bad, right?)

: )

:: Di 8:19:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dreams

Just before I awake ...

I am driving around the Benton Public Square. I hear the sputtering of an airplane; I look up, and I see a plane hovering just over the courthouse. I am on the north side of the square, and now the west side, and as I drive, slowly, I watch this plane. I see the propeller(s — there are 2) stop, and the plane is suspended, midair, for a few seconds. I realize my camera is in the backseat, and I am glad because I know the plane is going to crash. I pull over in front of the (now-closed) Italian Gardens restaurant. The plane, in slow-motion, goes head-first into the ground and the cars parked along the northeast corner of the courthouse. I wake up before it explodes.

Before that ...

I am riding my bicycle along The Strip in Las Vegas. I look to my right and see my friend Jean and her husband, Willy, running toward the door of Burger King, which is on kind of an incline (odd, because Vegas is flat). Jean is wearing a wedding veil. I pull into the parking lot, get their attention, and we stand outside, talking and laughing. Willy hands me their digital camera and asks me to take a picture of them. I have all kinds of trouble with the zoom and the exposure. They get ready to go inside, but I hesitate because I have no way to lock my bike.

Next ...

I am standing in a large gymnasium, getting ready to watch the New York Knicks host the Georgetown Hoyas. I hear the names Patrick Ewing and John Williams (but it's supposed to be Thompson). I look around and begin counting the number of people (women, mainly) who are wearing shiny black leather jackets; there are several. My friend Judy walks up with a container full of brownies and caramel-coated somethings. People give us strange looks at first, but before long we are all eating the goodies. I eat an oversized brownie that keeps falling apart when I try to pick it up.

After that ...

I see Miranda, and she tells me she will be in Vegas at 5:15 p.m. I am back in Charleston, IL, talking to Garrick, and he is telling me all the reasons he would choose to stay alive and fight if he were to find out he had AIDS. He looks extremely good, and he is not infected. Kathy, the girl from the laundromat, sidles up and says she wants a slice of pizza. We convince Loyce, the woman from Pizza Shack, to pick it up for us. Loyce brings us a medium pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms and extra cheese, with the toppings haphazardly scattered about, and tells Kathy to cut off a slice and bring the rest of the pizza back inside. I cut a big slice for her and take most of the toppings off the left half of the pizza. I put the rest of the pizza back in the box and walk up the street where a black man with gray hair is collecting food. I hand him the pizza, which is now on one of those cardboard platters and has white paper over it. I look inside the paper and see one of my Grandma Ginny's Aunt Libby cookies. I grab it and eat it as I walk back down the street toward my house.

Inside the house ...

Miranda's mom is watching Another World. I consider asking her if I may go with her to see Miranda, but I figure she will say no, so I decide to ask her at the last minute. I am still eating the cookie, which is sweet and moist. I look out toward a stairway and see my friend Kara. My sister and I walk over to her, and she asks me about the cookie I am eating. I ask her if she still makes her oatmeal chocolate chip cool cookies, and she says, "No. They're not on Sandy's 'Recommended Recipes' list." (Sandy is her mom.)

Whew, doll!

: )

For the 2nd day in a row and the 3rd time this week, my hair is a wild, poofy, unruly mess when I awake. I laugh as I look at myself in the mirror.

: )

:: Di 8:40:00 AM [+] ::
...

Daily Beauty

Found this tonight in my kitchen, about an hour ago, actually, when I got home from a few hours spent with my best pal. This is the hibiscus from Grandma Ginny's funeral several months ago; this summer, it bloomed 3 or 4 bright-red flowers at a time, 8 to 10 inches wide, every other day, but now it blooms one flower at a time, smaller but no less vibrant. (This isn't a full bloom, either; it will be tomorrow when I awake. Looks a little pinkish here, also, and I can't quite get Photoshop tweaked just right, but ... it's red. And that's not a wine bottle in the background, either, but ... it could be. Actually, I think it's some kinda chili-infused vinegar stuff.)

Now playing: Indigo Girls. Can't remember the name of this CD, which is odd, considering I've listened to it now for the last 3 nights. I really dig their music.

: )

:: Di 10:27:00 PM [+] ::
...

Love

I am at a basketball game today, around noon, and the home team is winning, but it's early, so I'm not paying all that close attention, just mainly trying to take some pictures that are in focus (gotta love the instant gratification of my Olympus digi-cam).

I glance down toward the opposite corner of the gymnasium, and I see the Bauers: Dave and his wife, Dorothy, who has been suffering with Alzheimer's over the last several years. They have been married for I-don't-know-how-long, and Dave has been caring for her, and he takes her to various sporting events, whenever she's up to it. They sit next to each other — Dorothy in a wheelchair and Dave right there next to her.

Today when I see them, Dave is reaching over to Dorothy and talking to her, putting his arms around her shoulders, rubbing her hands, talking to her. Leaning in and speaking to her — maybe not even knowing if his words are registering — the way a man speaks to the woman he is in love with.

I feel tears in my eyes, watching this display, and then I get back to watching the game.

Later today, I think of my pal Tee-Hee and one of her good friends — a woman we've both known since grade school, but Teresa has always known her better — and how last night, Teresa told me that the woman and her husband are having problems.

"Is he in love with someone else?" I ask.
"No."
"Is she?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"They're tired of each other."

And this makes no sense to me. They have two daughters; they haven't even been married all that long. I saw them last year, after having seen them 4 or 5 years earlier, and they seemed to get along great both times. They seemed happy.

But now ...

They're tired of each other.

I don't get it.

I understand growing apart. I understand being with someone and realizing you both have different needs and wants out of this life. I am a child of divorce; I realize that forever is a nifty idea but a practical impossibility.

I even understand being distracted to the point that everything that really matters to you ... just doesn't, really, because something or someone else suddenly means more.

I just don't understand this being "tired of each other."

: /

:: Di 10:16:00 PM [+] ::
...

I've Tried Everything

The truth of life is the greatest gift, but I don't think I can make it fit.
And who would guess that it would come to this when I've tried everything?

And I should go, but I can't explain the endless noise sounding in my brain.
Who would've thought that you could feel such pain when you've tried everything?

Who, you're a loser now.
Yeah, you're a loser.
Yeah, you're a loser now.

Lalalalalalalala la
Lalalalalalalala la
Lalalalalalalala la ah ah ah

I should be cool, but I'm burning hot; I should be good, but I fell apart.
Don't look at me, now, don't even start 'cause I've tried everything ...
Yeah, I've tried everything

Ooh, you're a loser now.
Yeah, you're a loser.
Ooh, you're a loser now.
Yeah, you're a loser.

Now ... now.

— The Eurythmics

:: Di 11:37:00 PM [+] ::
...

Must-see TV

Just stumbled onto a re-broadcast of today's Oprah featuring the cast of Friends.

I don't characterize myself as a Friends fan. Or even a Friends watcher. But: I am. And: I do. Watched it on and off earlier, and then a coupla seasons ago when the whole "Joey likes Rachel" thing started, I got all interested. For real.

Maybe because Matt LeBlanc is my favorite Friend? Or because Jennifer Aniston reminds me so much of my stepsister Connie?

I dunno. I laughed out loud multiple times during both of tonight's shows. Always clever, it seems.

These actors really do seem to care about one another. I mean, they could be "acting," but maybe it is possible to work with people and actually care about them.

Hmm. Wait-a-minute: I actually care about the people I work with! Granted, I'm not making umpteen-million dollars per (psychotic) episode, but I do!

Anyhoo, I think I'm gonna miss this show. Not as much as I miss Seinfeld, but some.

Random unrelated NBC observation: Maura Tierney is a hottie.

: )

One week until Thanksgiving. My, where has this year gone?

:: Di 10:37:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dandelion

In the middle of the night
In the middle of the bed
In the middle of something you just said
I couldn't hear the words
Watching the face move
Hands explaining something
I don't remember
All I know is I was worried
Getting to know you
Should I leave?
Should I hurry out?

Wildflowers or weeds
I wonder what you think of me
I love you already
But when I look at myself
Sometimes I feel like
I'm a dandelion
Like others you can find

Got a new haircut
A pair of fancy shoes
And I've been listening to the tunes
I have heard you talk about
Don't wanna be "out"
Don't want you to think that we have
Nothing in common
Or that I don't care if we
Carry on a conversation
I'd speak if I could breathe

Wildflowers or weeds
I wonder what you think of me
I love you already
But when I look at myself
Sometimes I feel like
I'm a dandelion
Like others you can find

To myself I wonder, "Why?
What is it with this one?
There must be ten million
Others I could go to
I could be with besides you."
But no, no, no, I can't do
Anything about it
Anything about the way I feel
Though I don't have to tell you
I'm so afraid I will

Wildflowers or weeds
I wonder what you think of me
I love you already
But when I look at myself
Sometimes I feel like
I'm a dandelion
Like others you can find

— Catie Curtis

:: Di 8:02:00 PM [+] ::
...

Dressed for Success

At this very moment I am wearing my K-Swiss tennis shoes (which I actually don't wear to play tennis, usually), olive-green cargo pants and a navy-blue EASTERN ILLINOIS UNIVERSITY BADMINTON T-shirt.

I could not be any happier. Nor any comfortabler.

: )

Well, OK ... I could ALWAYS be happier.

Without the bitter, baby, life just ain't as sweet.

Yeah.

:: Di 1:41:00 PM [+] ::
...

And one more thing:

I remembered what I've been wanting to rant about for at least a week now: Adult Attention Deficit Disorder, a.k.a. Adult ADD.

Saw a commercial for this "disorder" about a week ago, and it made me mad. Something about how you have ahold of the remote control, but can't figure out how to change the channels or some such nonsense.

I have a friend who honestly believes that everyone — make that EVERYONE — should take prescription anti-depressants. She feels our society is too fast-paced, and that humans aren't designed to keep up, and that we all — make that ALL — need to be on drugs.

I tend to believe that if I make it into my twilight years, it's very possible that everyone will be on anti-depressants. Or something. At the rate we're going, anyway.

I had my doubts about the diagnosis Attention Deficit Disorder when I first heard it, many years ago. Who's to say which kid has it, and which kid doesn't? It's entirely possible that a kid isn't paying attention because he or she is TOO DAMN BORED!! And so, what's the alternative? Drug 'em up so they can concentrate?

Hell, I can't concentrate if I take too many Tylenol — which, I must admit, I don't mind doing every now and again (OK, OK, so I've actually only done it once ... and that was when I accidentally mixed a few too many acetaminophen caplets with some Co-Tylenol medicine) — so how are kids s'posed to focus if they're all doped up?

And now ADULTS get to have ADD, too — or at the very least be DIAGNOSED with ADD.

Truthfully, every adult I KNOW has ADD ... and the more kids they have, the more severe the affliction! I have it, too, and I don't even HAVE kids!

ADD is a nice way to "get away" without leaving my chair at work. My bouts of ADD whilst driving are what keep me from flying into road rage toward all my fellow drivers. ADD allows me to ignore the chaos that surrounds me, daily, and to fixate on several projects simultaneously while completing none of them; this "disorder" keeps me from fretting over everyday worrisome tasks.

What if I accidentally get an official ADD diagnosis? I'll have to be medicated; granted, I'll have the benefits of the Americans with Disabilities Act at my disposal, but by then I'll be too focused and controlled to notice.

Damn.

: (

All our fantasy football team needed from Hines Ward tonight was a touchdown. And 50 or so receiving yards. And we would've won. But no, Hines Ward gets a measly 44 yards, good for 3 points, and we end up losing 70-67.

Fantasy football SUCKS!

: (

The good news is, I am going to bed, and it's raining.

:: Di 11:17:00 PM [+] ::
...

Uh ... but I'm an Aries!

From "my" horoscope today in The Daily Eastern News email edition:

"Be careful what you wish for today, Pisces, as it might just become a reality. The mind is a powerful tool and should be used with clarity and discernment. Are you up for the challenge? Let go of your desires before they get the better of you."

(My birthday is April 18. I'm nowhere NEAR being a Pisces.)

: )

Clarke has an entry in his blog called "neep nop neep nop!" and it reminds me of "Eep, Opp, Ork, Ah-Ah (That Means 'I Love You')" from The Jetsons. I think maybe a robot is singing it ... or maybe Relroy ...

: )

Non-sequitur: I keep thinking of swirly straws and how I made her smile when I e-mailed her after the very first time we chatted.

:: Di 3:07:00 PM [+] ::
...

And she'll have fun, fun, fun ...

... 'til her daddy takes the T'bird awayyyyy!

Just saw that vintage red Thunderbird convertible with a white top and I was reminded, yet again, how the "new" T'birds, snappy as they might be, simply do not compare to the old ones.

And while I'm on that tangent: Neither did the ones from the early 1980s, like the one my dad had that I spun into a 180 and into the ditch on a rain-slickened pavement after my friend Jill yelled, "Look out!" when she saw a dead 'possum (was it really dead ... or was it actually "playing 'possum"??!) lying in the middle o' the road.

:: Di 12:05:00 PM [+] ::
...

Braveheart

The last half hour or so is about as beautiful as a film can be.

Maybe it's just a Mel Gibson thing with me, but I really don't think so. I do adore him in The Year of Living Dangerously (SO young!! SO handsome!! And SIG!!), but this movie is wonderful.

Which reminds me: I STILL have not seen Gladiator, even though I've had the DVD for, like, a year. Russell Crowe just doesn't do it for me the way Mel does. I can't help it.

: )

Sundays suck.

I mean, they don't suck, but I hate that I can't ever cram in everything I want to do, all in one day ... and, sometimes, like today, I end up doing nothing. Well, unless watching TV counts for something ... which, it really doesn't.

Bought Sarah McLachlan's new CD, listening to it now, and I'd love to discuss it at length with my music muse/sensei, but ... she's not around these days. And I'm feeling not as sad about that as I usually do. Which, oddly enough (ironically, maybe?), makes me a little sad.

It's one thing to know you really really need to let go, completely; it's quite another when you realize that, in spite of yourself, you actually are letting go.

Anyhoo, this time through is just to hear the music for the first time. Thought I might follow along with the lyrics, but I had turned off all the lights, and the candle wasn't bright enough, so for now I'm just listening. Don't know how Sarah does what she does with her voice, but ... wow. And most of these songs are pretty slow, and I can already tell that this album is a keeper. Which is good.

Nothing seems to help me since you've been away ...

:: Di 7:48:00 PM [+] ::
...

The previous post — which actually follows the post following this post — was originally titled, "In My Yard" and had me singing "In My Room" by the Beach Boys when I logged in (or is it "logged on"?), and I altered it just a little.

Not because I was singing a Beach Boys song, just because I wanted to call it "Red" instead.

Speaking of the Beach Boys: In the liner notes on their latest album, REM stated that "At My Most Beautiful" song is a tribute to them. Which makes me smile.

: )

There's also a pretty cool Yaz song called "In My Room." Kind of a chant, actually, but I have always liked it. Reminds me of Van Gogh's painting of his room at Arles. (I believe it's called "The Room at Arles," but ... oh, hell, I wasn't gonna go check, but now I really have to, because I have to know, and of course I was right!)

: )

I like that painting. I am thinking I saw it when I was in Amsterdam, or maybe Paris, but to be quite honest, the only painting I am absolutely certain I saw was the Mona Lisa, and I am certain of this because it was in the Louvre, encased in this huge glass — well, case. It was encased in a glass case, so you couldn't actually get right up next to ol' Mona and get that whole "eyes watching you wherever you go" effect, and I was extremely disappointed. And my best pal was annoyed with me for not "appreciating" the painting, and I was like, hey, I would appreciate the painting if I didn't have to stand so far away from it and look at it through that stupid case!

(I think the case might've even been bulletproof, but that's just conjecture on my part. As usual.)

Did I actually have anything to say when I started typing? If so, it escapes me now.

Other than, I am starting NOT to take anything personally. Or, rather, not to take anything personally that I shouldn't take personally.

Yeah.

:: Di 10:31:00 PM [+] ::
...

Red



This is officially my first entry into my 26 Things: The Photographic Scavenger Hunt gallery.

Had a bugger of a time re-figuring out my FTP-thingie, on the new computer and all. But now I am UP and runnin' ... Feets, don't FAIL me now!

Oh, and another thing: I have HEAT in my house! And not portable-electric-heater heat, either: gas-furnace heat! Will wonders never cease?

(Someday, I must write an entry using nothing but clichés. Wouldn't that be fun? Or maybe only sports clichés ... gems like "behind the 8-ball" and others, which oddly enough escape me at the moment.)

Ooh, the Jamie Oliver Professional Series from T-Fal! Just advertised on TV! I want, I want! (I adore Jamie Oliver. Especially the way he pronounces "th" as "f." It's a British thang, I believe.)

:: Di 4:42:00 PM [+] ::
...

tiny maroon flowers

Found out tonight that my ex-stepmother died this morning. Of cancer. Started in her throat and eventually worked its way to her brain.

My mom told me a few months ago that Helen wasn't doing too well, and that she wanted to see Debra and me.

I never went up. I don't think Debra did, either.

I can't remember how long Helen has not been my stepmother. She and my dad had gotten a (second) divorce quite a while before he died, which was almost 13 years ago. And then there was a life insurance squabble, and for a while I pretty much despised her, and then time passed and I no longer felt any ill will toward her at all.

Last time I saw her was Dec. 24, 2001. Which, if anyone asks, was exactly 2 days before The Worst Day of My Life. And I was incredibly insanely perfectly fucked-up on that Christmas Eve, and after happily piddling around for the first half of the day, I drove up to see my parents. Along the way I happened across my 5th-grade teacher, unexpectedly, and I stopped to say hi. Went to Christmas Eve service and saw all my pals, and then went over to see "the steps."

And I know I told Helen I loved her that night because I told EVERYONE I saw that I loved them that night. And I remember she could no longer speak any louder than a whisper because of the cancer in her throat, but she told me she loved me, too.

Of course I have hundreds of memories of her, like the Fourth of July out at John & Donna's when I lit a whole pack of firecrackers under her feet and she didn't even notice, or the time Bobby and Debra and I were in Bobby's room, making fun of her because she was drunk, and then they told her that I said she was drunk, and she kept getting in my face, yelling, "I am NOT drunk! Diana, I am NOT drunk!"

But my most vivid memory of her was the night she called my mom and stepdad from the Lidster Hotel because my dad had hit her, and she was afraid, and so we all went down there to try to calm her down, and she was standing in the middle of the hotel room, crying and telling us what had happened, and she was wearing this sleeveless white button-down shirt with tiny maroon flowers on the front, and I kept staring at her shirt, and it wasn't until hours (years?) later that I realized, no, those WEREN'T tiny maroon flowers — they were tiny maroon bloodstains from where my father had punched her in the nose.

(I think I shall make a memorial donation instead of sending flowers.)

:: Di 11:44:00 PM [+] ::
...

Here comes the sun! (Dootin'-doo-doo)

Strange day, indeed.

Warm and drizzly most of the morning. Upon entering the news office, I decide that I am NOT going to answer the telephone whilst I am there by myself (the first hour I am there, at which time we are not officially "open," anyway), mainly because I am in NO MOOD for hearing any excuses from anyone.

Then I find out, about half an hour later, that our mayor has DIED. And I did not know the man well, but I did know he was a very nice guy who had devoted much of his life to public service. Also, he does/did my best pal's taxes, and she really liked him, so ... I am kinda sad.

Plus, early in this day, I have NO IDEA what I am going to do in class today.

And all morning, the weather reflects my mood. Comfortable but cloudy and gray and threatening.

Then I get home, and I put together today's lesson, wolf down a baloney-and-cheese sandwich (on Wonder bread, white, with French's mustard) and some potato chips and a Coke, e-mail my dept. chair to tell her that yes, I will teach the Rhetoric & Comp II class, iron my green button-down shirt, watch a little "Primetime in the Daytime" television and then, finally, look outside and see that the clouds have blown (yes, I said blown!) away and it's a beautiful day!

Man, if only I didn't have that meeting at 3:30! This might be the last "nice" day for a while.

:: Di 12:17:00 PM [+] ::
...

Fine

A snippet from tonight's Judging Amy episode:

"It'll be fine in the end. If it's not fine, it's not the end." — Cousin Kyle, imparting some wisdom from that night's AA meeting

An optimistic comment, if ever I've heard one.

The show had me laughing out loud tonight — a few choice Maxine comments and Lauren's statement about how Aunt Jillian has been very strange "since she died." (Last season ended with Jillian slipping into a coma whilst giving birth; she was out of the coma by the 2nd episode of this season but hasn't been quite the same since ...)

Good scene with Bruce, too, finally almost admitting how he really feels about Amy. Will those 2 ever be together? Maybe it's just too obvious that they're in love with one another. Anyway, I liked it that he almost said exactly how he feels.

[ I am Bruce, sometimes. ]

Kept flipping over to One Tree Hill as I was watching The Guardian — a show I have become oddly intrigued by over the past few weeks, mainly because of the kinda balding guy who can't seem to accept the fact that he's gay, and also because Simon Baker is so understated. Anyway, on One Tree, that cute blond boy whose name I don't know (but he was on Dawson's Creek for a bit) suddenly reminded me of David Caruso. Wonder if they're related?

:: Di 10:15:00 PM [+] ::
...

Kenny Irvin is the best fish-fryer ever.

Seriously.

After I crammed myself full of crappie (pronounced "croppy"; I will NEVER admit to being full o' CRAP!!), Kenny gave me, like, a pound of fish to take home with me. I am not much of a fish-eater, but I was quite happy, nevertheless.

Gloomy, rainy day. At least I have a small, if not work-related, adventure planned for the weekend. Well, Friday night, anyway: the state volleyball tournament. Our team is not favored to get past its first match, but ... you never know. (Wow, I just typo'd "no" for "know"!) Jake and I will be road-tripping — our longest journey yet. Should be interesting ...

Could I care any LESS about the Cat in the Hat movie coming out? I think not.

:: Di 7:14:00 PM [+] ::
...

An unexpected pleasure ...

Today, headed home, driving up Maple Street — where, in the midst of a really low spot (my life, not the pavement) about 3-and-a-half years ago, I had a thought so powerful that I nearly drove off the road:

"She's thinking about you at THIS VERY MOMENT."

— I hear a song by The Cure. And I don't even know the name of it, but it makes me feel good, and that's really all that matters.

: )

And it also reminded me of "Close to You" song on the mix tape I "borrowed" (never to be seen again!) from Delra so long ago. And how I totally dug the Psychedelic Furs' "Ghost in You" song that was on there, but Garrick loved The Cure song so much that I couldn't help but appreciate it, too.

:: Di 12:36:00 PM [+] ::
...

Oh, yeah:

The new 26 Things: The Photographic Scavenger Hunt (II) is under way during November. OK, so we're more than a week into November; what the hey, for the first one, I didn't even get started until the FINAL week of it, and I still managed to finish before the deadline ... which isn't exactly etched in stone, anyway.

Just DO it ...


:: Di 9:58:00 PM [+] ::
...

Good Tennis

Played indoors for the first time of the "winter" season ... though, technically, it's still fall ... at the "new" tennis club/soccer field, which is actually just a remodeled former tennis club/bowling alley. Most likely my next-to-last time because the new club is a bit too pricey for me, factoring in membership fees, court fees and the fact that it's a 45-minute drive just to get there, in addition to being able to play only one night a week.

I admit, I am a little bummed. Tennis does me good, usually.

I mean, physically, of course, it's always good ... although the dorky-looking Prince tennis shoes I bought this past summer aren't going to cut it. Felt like I blew out my right arch going after a high shot toward the center of the court ... and these shoes are too new NOT to have any arch support left. Which tells me they didn't have any to begin with.

Self-esteem-wise, tennis also makes me feel good. Usually. There are nights I play like Absolut $hit, and I don't always feel so great afterwards, but ... truthfully, tennis usually is a good experience.

Realized tonight

Timeout: Just heard a flock of geese flying overhead. At 9:45 p.m., over the din of the Eagles-Packers game going on, on TV, to my immediate left.

Anyhoo, realized tonight that playing tennis isn't so much about playing tennis as it is about getting together with my friends and spending a few hours with them. Got to see Jody's new Dell laptop, too, which has a DVD burner and wireless Internet. I think I am envious of the wireless 'net; no reason I can't get it myself, though! Yeah!

Jody told me her son (age 16 ... or maybe 17; he's a junior in h.s.) likes me. Which, if I were a teen-ager, would be a total rush.

"He really likes you," Jody said. "He said, 'She's cool.'"

"He said that?" I asked. "He really said, 'She's cool'?"

"Yes!"

"Well, you'll have to keep him away from me, then," I said. "If he's around me for any length of time, he will realize that I most definitely am NOT cool!"

OK, I am 38 years old. Having a junior in h.s. say that I'm cool IS a total rush.

: )

:: Di 9:53:00 PM [+] ::
...

This is starting to feel an awfully lot like wallowing.

And I've always pretty much despised listening to people wallow, whine, bitch 'n' moan, etc.

I think I have 2 choices:

I can continue to wallow. Perhaps even go curl up into a little ball of Di (a phrase I borrowed from a musician I know). Contemplate the mysteries of the universe and wonder why I managed to do everything in my power to fuck-up something that meant so much to me, or ...

I can get over it.

Oh, wait, I think I just thought of another option:

I can write a sonnet.

Or rather, I need to write a sonnet. Something that's poetry, with a defined form and rhyme scheme and what-not, because when I am scattered and chaotic, I am not exactly at my best. (I might be at my happiest then, though ... oddly enough.)

:: Di 3:25:00 PM [+] ::
...

Sometimes, love = hate.

I hate when I watch a movie, and EVERYTHING about it reminds me of me and my life.

Now playing: Meet Joe Black, featuring Brad Pitt looking as good as he looks in any movie — Legends of the Fall and A River Runs Through It among the other top contenders. And Claire Forlani (sp?) is, as my friend Tee-Hee put it so eloquently: a hottie!

A couple of my favorite lines, though, come from Sir Anthony Hopkins:

"Reveal everything there is to know about yourself and let the chips fall where they may."

"Don't blow smoke up my ass; it'll ruin my autopsy."

And this little snippet from right near the end, when Coffee Shop Joe "returns" to Susan:

Joe: You said you liked me.
Susan: No.
Joe: You didn't?
Susan: I said I liked you so much ...

Awesome.

:: Di 6:12:00 PM [+] ::
...

The Ice Storm

After my shower, I could hear rain falling ever-so-lightly on the leaves outside. It sounded like ice or freezing rain pelting the roof and the trees, mid-winter-like. And here it is, still early November.

When I went outside about 45 minutes later, everything was dry. As if it hadn't rained at all.

Too cold for it to have evaporated so quickly.

Odd.

Speaking of sounds:

That noise resembling a door, creaking shut? That's the sound of me letting go ...

(I need to slam it, but I just can't. Not as long as I have any semblance of a memory of the past, any hope for the future ...)

Today's e-mail:

"Oh where, oh where has my sissy gone?
Oh where, oh where can she be?
I miss her so for so, so long....
I hope she'll get back to me."

: )

From my sister, whom I managed to miss online both nights she was around, thanks to me having to work. Bleh.

For the record:

Fantasy football SUCKS! Majorly! Damn.

:: Di 2:59:00 PM [+] ::
...

A good night ... not a great night, but a good night ...

Now playing: "Diamonds and Rust" by Joan Baez and Mary Chapin Carpenter, part of my MCC mix.


Loaded in the Pioneer 6-pack right now: MCC mix, Breakdown by Melissa Etheridge, All That You Can't Leave Behind by U2, The Unforgettable Fire by U2, August & Everything After by the Counting Crows and Bruce Springsteen's Greatest Hits by The Boss.

And a couple of days ago it occurred to me that I need to make a U2 mix. And maybe a Bruce mix.

And just a couple of minutes ago I realized that I hate it when someone on my AOL Buddy List logs off JUST as I'm cramming the CDs into the player, ready for some quality online time.

Ah, well, such is life ... but there goes what really coulda been a GREAT night.

*sigh*

*shrug*

"I want a place to call my own that
You have never been
I want to look around and know
You won't be coming back again ..."
— MCC, "Rhythm of the Blues"

(Do I have "Rhythm" spelt right? Looks a lil' weird to me!)

Anyhoo, tonight: Jake and I leave for Trico H.S. around 6 for the big volleyball super-sectional. Exciting match, Benton wins Game 1, plays about as poorly as possible in Game 2 and then pulls out the win in Game 3. Meantime, in all the excitement, Jake loses his fleece hoodie, but we manage to get it back once we're back in town.

I've been through plenty of these kinds of matches and games and what-not, but Jake is 16, and he's so excited on the drive home that I just have to smile. All the while.

And our best player — after the match, while I'm interviewing her — that she heard me yelling, too, during the match, and that that helped. Had to smile over that, too.

: )

It's fucking cold in here.

(Come back! I have SOOOO many things I wanna say!)

Course, they only occur to me later. When I am alone and thinking too much.

Awoke too early today. Sleeping in tomorrow.

:: Di 10:56:00 PM [+] ::
...

CRASH!!! (into me)

I hate when I come up with the perfect opening line and then am too timid to say it.

: )

Or something.

:: Di 9:58:00 PM [+] ::
...

Let's start over and pretend we don't know each other.

Yeah. Reread a coupla things I maybe shouldn't have earlier today. Snippets of me feeling contrite over certain huge mistakes I had made. Trying to explain myself. Seeking forgiveness.

Had to forgive myself before I could expect anyone else to.

Did I?

Not sure yet. I still have those fleeting moments ...

It is cold outside. Today it was cold and gray. Oddly, I find myself enjoying the cold when I am out in it, for short periods of time. As if I need to feel the chill in the air, to remind me that yes, indeed, winter is coming.

(I dread December most.)

(That's not exactly true. I dread January and February just as much.)

Am I dreading my life away?

I have an urge to sit down with every friend in my life — one-on-one, though, not all at once — and have this heart-to-heart, no-holds-barred conversation.

I like that term: no-holds-barred. It occurred to me only recently that the phrase must be some kind of reference to wrestling. Nothing illegal. Anything/everything goes. No topic is off-limits.

The only rule is complete honesty. Quid pro quo.

I need to find The Human Stain playing somewhere nearby, and soon. I heard it is very good — or, more precisely, that Nicole Kidman is very good in it. Begging the question: Is there any film Ms. Kidman is NOT good in?

* Watching Whale Rider "Behind the Scenes" as I type *

: )

:: Di 10:46:00 PM [+] ::
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