Tape Deck: 2 Me: 0
Oven Timer: 2 Me: 0
Computer: 3 Me: 0
Toaster: 0 Me: 2 Ha ha! Take that, bitch! Take it all!
Turn Signal: 1 Me: 0
Machines: 8 Me: 2
I feel like I'm being primed for when robots rule the Earth.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Writer's Block
I'm doing something I didn't think I'd do again.
I'm writing fiction. For fun.
A few weeks ago I was washing dishes and listening to a story on All Things Considered about how adults don't draw for fun, but they should. I thought about how I still sometimes draw for fun, and didn't think the story was really relatable, and pitied the poor inhibited bastitches. Then I thought of things I'd given up when I realized I wouldn't make money at it: playing piano, photography, writing. I used to write all the time, and not just the horrible poems I posted. Mostly short stories, but I also had ideas for novels, and I scribbled out a very, very rough draft for one of them my senior year. Two of my high school teachers encouraged me to pursue an English or Writing Degree, but I never did, though I published a short story in a college literary magazine. The last time I actively wrote was the summer after my freshman year of college. I even had a few sleepovers with Velocibadgergirl where we holed up in my room with the stereo playing and a candle* burning, writing our hearts out. I was such a dork. And I loved it.
Then I just...stopped. I composed a few poems sophomore year of college, but the spark was out. I felt uninspired for the first time since I was literate. As soon as I learned to write, I authored a book. In the first grade I scrawled a really long story about journeying to a kingdom made of diamonds and my ensuing adventures. There were unicorns, I remember. I threw it out in the fifth grade, and I wish I still had it because I'm sure I'd laugh my ass off if I reread it. I wrote and illustrated my second book in the third grade, which I still have somewhere. It features a dragon. I'm pretty sure there's a unicorn mentioned, but I'm not certain.
So, I'm writing. No, you cannot see it. At least, not unless 1) it's done and 2) you're one of my best friends and 3) you promise to not hurt my feelings when I ask you how you liked it. I'm open to a writing-themed slumber party, though. I'll even supply the pillows and cookies.
*When I burned a certain purple candle, I wrote better. I saved it, just to remember how much fun I used to have.
I'm writing fiction. For fun.
A few weeks ago I was washing dishes and listening to a story on All Things Considered about how adults don't draw for fun, but they should. I thought about how I still sometimes draw for fun, and didn't think the story was really relatable, and pitied the poor inhibited bastitches. Then I thought of things I'd given up when I realized I wouldn't make money at it: playing piano, photography, writing. I used to write all the time, and not just the horrible poems I posted. Mostly short stories, but I also had ideas for novels, and I scribbled out a very, very rough draft for one of them my senior year. Two of my high school teachers encouraged me to pursue an English or Writing Degree, but I never did, though I published a short story in a college literary magazine. The last time I actively wrote was the summer after my freshman year of college. I even had a few sleepovers with Velocibadgergirl where we holed up in my room with the stereo playing and a candle* burning, writing our hearts out. I was such a dork. And I loved it.
Then I just...stopped. I composed a few poems sophomore year of college, but the spark was out. I felt uninspired for the first time since I was literate. As soon as I learned to write, I authored a book. In the first grade I scrawled a really long story about journeying to a kingdom made of diamonds and my ensuing adventures. There were unicorns, I remember. I threw it out in the fifth grade, and I wish I still had it because I'm sure I'd laugh my ass off if I reread it. I wrote and illustrated my second book in the third grade, which I still have somewhere. It features a dragon. I'm pretty sure there's a unicorn mentioned, but I'm not certain.
So, I'm writing. No, you cannot see it. At least, not unless 1) it's done and 2) you're one of my best friends and 3) you promise to not hurt my feelings when I ask you how you liked it. I'm open to a writing-themed slumber party, though. I'll even supply the pillows and cookies.
*When I burned a certain purple candle, I wrote better. I saved it, just to remember how much fun I used to have.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Karma
I don't really believe in karma, I haven't seen enough proof that one gets what one deserves to truly believe. But I didn't write that I don't believe, I wrote that I don't really believe. I still find anecdotal evidence for it, like my sister's daughter Dolly. Having to raise your clone seems pretty karmic to me. The latest anecdotal evidence for it is ending up with exactly what I was trying to avoid. I did not want a third cat. I did not ever want a long-haired cat. I planned on always adopting grown cats. Guess what's living in my solarium?
Right now I'm telling people we're fostering with the option to adopt. See, on April 20th my brother was visiting our mom's grave and found her. He took her to the vet the following day for treatment for her respiratory infection and get checked for feline leukemia and the like. He called me immediately to ask if I was interested in adopting her, to which I wholeheartedly responded NO. Two weeks later our other brother Job moves back to their house, and he's allergic to cats, so he had to find her a home right away. MacGyver had already asked me to make her his birthday present*. We've had her since Saturday. He did agree that we'll find her another home if she is a jerk or if Gonk and Domino hate her. Honestly, I think I'm stuck with her. Fortunately, she is so damn cute, and she hasn't been acting like a jerk yet. Mostly she plays with string and pounces on little pieces of cardboard. She's 10 weeks old and weighs 1.5 pounds, 75% of her volume is fluff. My brother called her Wheezie, but we're discussing other names. I'm pushing for MoCa (or Moca). Her black hairs have a cinnamon cast, kind of like mocha, but MoCa stands for Mobile Cactus. If you've handled kittens, you know what I mean.
*All he wants for his birthday is a little pussy.
Right now I'm telling people we're fostering with the option to adopt. See, on April 20th my brother was visiting our mom's grave and found her. He took her to the vet the following day for treatment for her respiratory infection and get checked for feline leukemia and the like. He called me immediately to ask if I was interested in adopting her, to which I wholeheartedly responded NO. Two weeks later our other brother Job moves back to their house, and he's allergic to cats, so he had to find her a home right away. MacGyver had already asked me to make her his birthday present*. We've had her since Saturday. He did agree that we'll find her another home if she is a jerk or if Gonk and Domino hate her. Honestly, I think I'm stuck with her. Fortunately, she is so damn cute, and she hasn't been acting like a jerk yet. Mostly she plays with string and pounces on little pieces of cardboard. She's 10 weeks old and weighs 1.5 pounds, 75% of her volume is fluff. My brother called her Wheezie, but we're discussing other names. I'm pushing for MoCa (or Moca). Her black hairs have a cinnamon cast, kind of like mocha, but MoCa stands for Mobile Cactus. If you've handled kittens, you know what I mean.
*All he wants for his birthday is a little pussy.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Happy 42nd Anniversary, Mom and Dad!
In this photo, mom was around my current age and pregnant with my sister. I love this photo because they are standing in a way that is staged, but their happiness looks so spontaneous. Also, I was born about 13 years later, so these are people I love but never knew at this stage in their lives. When I look at this picture my heart aches and sings at the same time.
Many thanks to Evil Ducky for repairing and ameliorating the original photograph.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Laying It All Out
Because I have nothing else positive to talk about, and because I like it when other bloggers share their teen angst poetry, today I am posting some of mine. You've been warned.
This gem is untitled and was written in 1998:
What would happen if I took this turn
and never thought back?
Can I make myself be a good girl
and stay the beaten track?
To turn my life from loathe to hope,
it is my dream come due.
My life lies crumbled under my feet,
and it's because of you.
You have run me down in this circle,
you shush me when I speak.
You've sapped my spirit in this cycle,
I'm tired and I'm weak.
I stopped following now I'm dragging,
because I'm on your leash.
You expect me to beg on command,
but wait until I breach.
I'll take off the halter and the reins,
I'll knock the fences down.
Unrestrained I'll fly off and away,
I'll never turn around.
My favorite part is how I have superpowers when all the bondage gear is stripped away. Next!
Also from 1998:
Finding Sense
Once I thought I'd die for you
and now I think I did,
'cause as soon as you left me,
my senses ran and hid.
After weeks of feeling empty,
feeling no love nor pain,
I decided to move on,
and find some sense again.
Depression was waiting at the door,
Anger was close behind.
Bitterness was watching lovers
and wasn't hard to find.
Rage and Hate were hand in hand
with Agony in tow.
Apathy was on a crowded street
just going with the flow.
I walked into a crowded room
where I got Rejected.
Forlorn sat on the sidelines
visiting Dejected.
I found Peace in the churchyard
while Hope danced in the rain.
Dignity held her head up high
and tried to comfort Pain.
Joy lay in a painter's brush,
Love came out of the blue.
My senses found, I'm feeling whole,
so all I miss is you.
I had a crush on the same kid for eight years, then he moved to another state after the 10th grade. I was so crushed, and I wrote this after mourning my loss for months. I met my first boyfriend at the end of 12th grade, and I still felt if my crush reappeared I would throw myself at him. Next!
From 1999:
Mars
Writhing and wrestling
In the iron-clad dirt,
The red soil covering
Two fighting bodies
In a crimson fog.
My sweat
Shattered onto your face
Creating streaks of war paint.
A piercing kiss
Followed by a soft embrace
Of your burning salty lips
On my bitten flesh.
We bled for power
In the red dust,
My nails raking seething muscle
Your hands pinning convulsing shoulders.
Raging together,
I flailed my limbs
In pursuit of an exit,
Leaving the impression
Of a fallen angel
In the rusty soil
As you called for God.
The lack of rhyming shows I was in college. What really makes me cringe when I read this is that I was absolutely virginal, and I cannot fathom that this is what I imagined sex was going to be like. Good lord.
I was going to add another two, but I've lost my stomach for it. I encourage you to post your old poetry, because it amuses me greatly.
This gem is untitled and was written in 1998:
What would happen if I took this turn
and never thought back?
Can I make myself be a good girl
and stay the beaten track?
To turn my life from loathe to hope,
it is my dream come due.
My life lies crumbled under my feet,
and it's because of you.
You have run me down in this circle,
you shush me when I speak.
You've sapped my spirit in this cycle,
I'm tired and I'm weak.
I stopped following now I'm dragging,
because I'm on your leash.
You expect me to beg on command,
but wait until I breach.
I'll take off the halter and the reins,
I'll knock the fences down.
Unrestrained I'll fly off and away,
I'll never turn around.
My favorite part is how I have superpowers when all the bondage gear is stripped away. Next!
Also from 1998:
Finding Sense
Once I thought I'd die for you
and now I think I did,
'cause as soon as you left me,
my senses ran and hid.
After weeks of feeling empty,
feeling no love nor pain,
I decided to move on,
and find some sense again.
Depression was waiting at the door,
Anger was close behind.
Bitterness was watching lovers
and wasn't hard to find.
Rage and Hate were hand in hand
with Agony in tow.
Apathy was on a crowded street
just going with the flow.
I walked into a crowded room
where I got Rejected.
Forlorn sat on the sidelines
visiting Dejected.
I found Peace in the churchyard
while Hope danced in the rain.
Dignity held her head up high
and tried to comfort Pain.
Joy lay in a painter's brush,
Love came out of the blue.
My senses found, I'm feeling whole,
so all I miss is you.
I had a crush on the same kid for eight years, then he moved to another state after the 10th grade. I was so crushed, and I wrote this after mourning my loss for months. I met my first boyfriend at the end of 12th grade, and I still felt if my crush reappeared I would throw myself at him. Next!
From 1999:
Mars
Writhing and wrestling
In the iron-clad dirt,
The red soil covering
Two fighting bodies
In a crimson fog.
My sweat
Shattered onto your face
Creating streaks of war paint.
A piercing kiss
Followed by a soft embrace
Of your burning salty lips
On my bitten flesh.
We bled for power
In the red dust,
My nails raking seething muscle
Your hands pinning convulsing shoulders.
Raging together,
I flailed my limbs
In pursuit of an exit,
Leaving the impression
Of a fallen angel
In the rusty soil
As you called for God.
The lack of rhyming shows I was in college. What really makes me cringe when I read this is that I was absolutely virginal, and I cannot fathom that this is what I imagined sex was going to be like. Good lord.
I was going to add another two, but I've lost my stomach for it. I encourage you to post your old poetry, because it amuses me greatly.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Hello There
A few weeks ago, MacGyver helped my brother remove a dying maple tree and MacGyver brought a 200ish pound cross-section of the trunk home for a carpentry project. Yesterday he spent several hours working it into an end table, so there was a lot of pounding and screwing and power tool action. He sloshed some mineral oil over the top surface to show me the grain, and I asked about the hollow rotting spot on one corner. He descibed the rest of the project for a few minutes while poking out bad wood with a stick, and eventually out fell a...frog. This guy had been chilling out in our garage for weeks amidst MacGyver's welding and woodworking and oil changing and remained hidden while his home was refashioned into a piece of furniture. We left him by a pile of mulch next to our maple tree and told him to count his blessings he had Nature to deal with instead of Domino.
Friday, April 17, 2009
How It Is
My new job is technically part-time, but my higher-ups will give me extra hours for a while, and next year they want to make it full-time. So time my account balance will tell if I need to get a second job. This last week I spent training on main campus, which is chaotic and understaffed and made me grateful my actual job will be much, much more boring. I still can't believe it pays the same per hour as my old social work job but is about five times easier.
In other news, my brother is participating in a stage three cancer drug trial. I told him it's not fair to include him, since the placebo is a sugar pill and he has type one diabetes. My aunt by marriage, who is a retired nurse and full-time health nut and aerobics teacher, was recently diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. It metastasized from her colon to her lungs and liver, and she decided to try chemo. We don't know if it's working yet. She lives in North Carolina, which my cousin tells me is a miserable hellhole of a state. She might be a little biased, though.
In other news, my brother is participating in a stage three cancer drug trial. I told him it's not fair to include him, since the placebo is a sugar pill and he has type one diabetes. My aunt by marriage, who is a retired nurse and full-time health nut and aerobics teacher, was recently diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. It metastasized from her colon to her lungs and liver, and she decided to try chemo. We don't know if it's working yet. She lives in North Carolina, which my cousin tells me is a miserable hellhole of a state. She might be a little biased, though.
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