January 25th, 2005

Housewife's Lament

Since lists help my brain function:

Things I did today that indicate I may not be lifting on full thrusters:
  • Sis told me Clover's husband was on his way over, but I didn't change out of my nightgown
  • Put my skirt on inside-out before going out to the Willow House
  • Forgot to give Sis her mail (none that looks time-sensitive, thankfully)
  • Didn't check in with the office to see what's up on the studio apartment front
  • Didn't check in with work to make sure I wasn't in today
  • Didn't check in with work to try and make an actual permanent schedule for the time being
  • Called easalle from the phone that I know is flaky
  • Didn't try and catch the cat before taking the bed apart


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  • Current Music
    The Doors - Love Her Madly
twilight, Fairbanks to Phoenix, two worlds

Bed Arrangement

It's a joke with those who have been in my room often enough to notice that my bed is the one thing that definitely never stays the same for long. The bed has moved around the room, and been in many forms, most notably the huge expanse of bed that was evidently sized for a small orgy.

Latest, my bed was on the lower deck of a bunkbed, partitioned off from the room with a clever curtain arrangement. Now that the bunkbed portion of it all has disappeared, the mattresses remain, since they're still good (for me), and sit happily on the floor, with all my assorted pillows, blankets, and random stuff on top.

I'm happiest sleeping when I'm in a nest of blankets, pillows, sheets, stuffed animals, or whatever the heck it is that's in the bed. I don't sleep holding a stuffed animal, though. That stopped in approximately 1992, when I was in the sixth grade and my first official boyfriend, he who is fondly nicknamed "Kermit" in this journal, gave me a cute little trinket for Valentine's Day, a little wooden heart. I slept holding that in my hand, after that. When he gave me a soapstone bear, I started holding that instead. It fit my hand as if it had been made to be held. In 1994, I went off to nerdcamp and wound up buying a lovely little tumbled and polished bit of rose quartz that fit in my hand just so. It was called "the bearing stone", for reasons that started out logical by CTY standards, and therefore wound up obscure thereafter. When pyrogenic abandoned his one remaining Birkenstock sandal, I wound up holding that while I slept as well.

This set the pattern for later sleeping-objects. In one hand, I would hold a rock. In the other, I would hold an object that reminded me of my romantic connection of the moment. One of the most touching reminder-objects was from the Shawn era: before he left Alaska for his father's place in Colorado for one summer, the summer he was distraught and wound up suicidal, he gave me two of his old IDs stapled together, with a note layered between them. I'd complained that I had no photos of him, so he gave me those. The note promised me that no matter what, he would come back. When all else seemed as if he wouldn't make it through the summer, I clutched the photos and the note tightly, and trusted that he would follow through on his promise. And he came back, somewhat the worse for wear, but still alive, and still my best friend.

I currently hold a lovely chunk of rainbow fluorite that's just the right size to hold, and the ancient battered green lightsaber from Darkside. I take some teasing for it, of course, but it's one of the things that gets me through nights when there isn't someone on the other side of the bed who I can reach out and touch when everything seems too dark and lonely. And that's what matters.
  • Current Music
    Finn Brothers - Won't Give In
documentation, writing, quill

Mini-braindumps, and also You Had To Be There.

jetpack_monkey wanted to know what was up with all the tiny late-night/early-morning posts that I sometimes generate.

It's just one of my weird things. I have a brain, and it dumps random sporadic crap out. This journal is really an annex of my brain more than it is used as a public soapbox. It's not really formal publishing in any way.

In other news, Teel made noise about being a publisher as of April, and there was joking around with analogies about pimps, hoes, and johns, where the writer was the hoe, the agent was the pimp, the publisher was probably the owner of the brothel, and the readers were the johns. Since the joke was really in the exploration of the analogy, and the utter inappropriateness, it will lack something in the reading...
  • Current Music
    Something probably involving the Rembrants and Mexico in my head