but which mood is that, exactly?
I don't know.
Don't ask me.
I should turn on some music, though.
Silent house, holy house (batman)--
and here I sit.
(pen in hand? no... in bathroom stalls across the land? occasionally...)
maybe it's a day for fiction,
rather than the stories of me.
Maybe I'll skip the one about how one of my two dinner guests on Christmas neglected to mention he's a vegetarian so I cooked pot roast...
Even the veggies were cooked in the pot...with the roast.
So he had mashed potatoes, sans gravy.
It was only my husband's youngest brother, so it's ok.
He's a cool kid.
Total hippie, bordering on loser, but with a good chance of happiness.
Anyway.
And then there was the game my husband discovered.
Some online Warcraft game...
I was smiling and nodding for the first 7 hours or so,
but then my temperature began to lower.
It was downright frosty by hour 12.
That was Christmas Eve.
So on Christmas DAY, when he sat down and logged in...
well.
I said, "Hey honey? I hope that game came with a prostitute."
"Haha, no nothing like that, but did G. show you they can dance?"
"Yes, but that's not what I meant. I meant...maybe it should have included some vouchers for dry cleaning and restaurants; a punch card for an escort service."
He looked a little uncertain for a moment--
how mad is my wife?
I smiled and he closed the lid of his laptop.
"I was...just gonna play for a minute..."
UH HUH.
Sure you were.
Oh, don't get me wrong--
he deserves his relaxation.
It was just bad timing.
Like I said, X day was great.
Cuz he knows what's important
(even if I have to remind him occasionally.)
So...
how about that music?
There. That's better.
I had some deep thoughts, while I was browsing tracks.
They slipped off my shoulders, and into the cool, murky water of forgottenPastGone
I wish I could remember...
something about wishing I could feel a certain way again,
and something else, about wondering...SHIT. Wondering something.
Building a house.
Alone.
I can see him, all my years getting mixed up--
which one was his?
And the cold of the air that year, I know it was the year it was colder than...
cold, colder, coldest--
the most superlative of all cold weather.
And yet.
We walked through Old Port, looking for Jamie's band--
James, to him...and I forget most of the time to wonder what Jamie thought of me, then.
The girl he rode the bus with for most of grade school and jr high...probably high school, too.
yeah, high school.
And then I called, and he answered, and I knew it was him but I didn't know how,
and asked for his roommate.
Then, months later, his roommate and I looked for him.
Sparklers and styrofoam-encased hot chocolate (but surely, in that MINUS 60 degrees weather it did not stay hot long...)
Laughing and looking.
Arms entwined.
We're in Guam, we're in Guam--wait, Guam's warm, right?
It didn't work...the cold still stabbed, sliced, wound through us.
Stumbling, runny-nosed into the next venue on the list--
is this it?
Finally, it was.
And we huddled in a too-large space, for an unknown band in a festive-but-cold night,
waiting.
Listening.
Talking...smiling.
You should move back here...I'll marry you...
Which year was that?
The wrong one, I'm sure.
The too late one, the too warm one--
warm inside, with a black turtle neck and in such a familiar place,
but with the fewest familiar faces--
and some who didn't belong at all.
Everything was upside down and inside out...but not necessarily backwards.
I think we thought it was the other night...
the first one.
On that night, I was only trying to seize the day,
to embrace the opportunities that life threw at me.
Because I had learned not to treat them recklessly.
I had learned...to grab what I wanted and run with it.
To plunge my hands deep in the grain barrel of life.
So I took his face in my hands and we stumbled to that attic.
One year later on the same night I made a new and unrelated promise--
for a beginning...and an end.
I didn't even know there was an end until I had cried a gallon of tears in mourning.
Oh, thought I, good bye to that life.
And so, he builds a house.
Alone...but in solitude he'll gain strength.
Well, I believe that he will.
I can't stop looking at the scar on my hand, from the burn the other day.
The skin is red and puckered.
I want to flatten it out...smooth it.
No, I'll not iron it, sillies.
I do have babysitters set for my double date with a fantastic pair of bloggers on Wednesday, and my as yet un-set plans for New Year's Eve.
I hate how it comes so close to Christmas...heh.
It just seems to sneak up on me, so!
We try to plan ahead, but there aren't a lot of places advertising before Christmas,
and whatever.
I'm just excited for my evening with Becky and Justin.
They don't know it yet, but I'm making them sign confidentiality agreements.
Hey, I got a rep to protect!
(please...say that like Johnny from Grease 2...)
Well, so there was your fiction.
I think I'll go watch 40 Year Old Virgin.
yes, I've seen it.
I finally watched The Village last night.
WOW.
That kicked ass.
And you know what was great?
From the very first scene I was guessing that it was modern day.
Their language was too awkward, too forced.
And I knew that it was intentional.
I loved it.
I loved that Wah-keen didn't die...
which reminds me of how sad I was when his brother died.
Dude.
he was fuggin HOT.
Next time I get to be God for the day,
I'm bringing a few folks back to life.
Possibly only so I can fuck them raw, but that's my business.
Cobain, Hendrix, Morrison...River.
Which reminds me (actually, no, watching "Here Comes Santa Claus" initially reminded me...cuz the Winter Warlock starts going by his first name...)
it reminded me that I used to want to name a daughter "Winter".
whoa. And I'm listening to "Daughter" right now...
TRIPPY.
I think I'll start going by "Winter" now.
Winter Jones.
Winter Smith?
Winter McGee.
Winter --
I just realized that probably my biggest handicap in writing fiction is making up realistic names.
Can't.
Fucking.
Do it.
So, don't be surprised if I use your name for a character sometime.
Yeah, YOU.
Or you, or you over there!!
nah...you'll be the main character...have to change the name to protect my guilty day dreams...
There was my first love, and my last love.
They shared a name.
every time I twist a stem off an apple, it's the same letter...
all my loves have shared that letter.
Or am I only counting those that do?
Am I minimizing the impact the other had on me because of the alphabet, or their mother's first kiss to their once-bald little fuzzy scalps as she whispered their names for the first time?
Either way.
Greatest loves.
Letter.
Blah.
I'm putting myself to sleep.
How 'bout you?
Fucking remind me to change the homepage of this computer, please...
neices coming for two days.
don't want.
them to see.
BLOG.
asleep..me....fuzzy...warm, happy, love, etc.
eyes closing.
breath slowing.
fingers, on keyboard--heavy.
should stand.
bed.
find.
it's not lost--why find, silly lisa
bon nuit mes amours--
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