November 10, 2000: downswing
I'm reading Steve, thinking that it's all different when it's people you know.
And it is.
I wish them all luck.
I ride the Cute Girl Bus on my morning commute on odd days, I swear. The 7:42 AM #25 picks up and drops off a variety of people, about 80% female and 100% worth a second look.
I was riding with Chris this morning, and he concurred. We talk in low voices to each other in the back of the bus. I hope the gunning engine of the bus disguises the subject matter of our words.
We ride, and point out pretty trees to each other. For a commute, it's not bad.
The house is a pit.
I'm going to a party tonight.
Nest Saturday afternoon.
Dinner and November Project Saturday evening.
Small dinner party (okay, it's *not* small; it started out small, but more people got invited and well you know how that goes. Anything over five people is not a sit-down dinner at my house and I'd originally invited three people, expanded to include one more who was going to be in town that weekend, and I was begged to invite four other people) on Sunday starting at two.
An evening spent with Loba after the dinner party.
Capitol Hill and Dilettante Monday evening, probably.
I'm going to need some alone time after this. Okay, a *lot* of alone time. At least a week, maybe a couple of weeks. I'm feeling restricted, constricted, breathless, tramped-upon. I know too many Scorpios, too many people who have their birthdays in November, too many people who throw parties going into the holiday season that officially starts with Halloween for me. I've warned people now that I likely won't be availible for random get-togethers until late Jauary.
I want to know why the holiday season is held in the winter. I mean, in the winter all I want to do is crawl into my bed and pull the covers up over my head. I am *not* in the mood for large gatherings from about October until April. Christmas in June--can you imagine it? We'd all be having picnics, decorating little palm trees, singing cheery songs. Yeah, that's the ticket.
I get surly in the winter. Winter is when I want to be alone in my own head. I relish the silence that is winter inside myself--the internal snowfields and the gentle shush of wind on the roads. I want to stare out of windows and light candles and take long hot baths and work frantically on the projects I've been incubating all summer. In the winter, other people are largely irrelevant.
Then again, whenever I get in this sort of mood, I remind myself that I actually mostly enjoy the presence of people these days. I think my house being a mess is what's tipped me into "oh no not again" mode this time.
Well, I know what I need to do, eh?
[Ah, this happens every year. Y'all have probably learned to just go with it by now, haven't you? Heh.]
How come none of you told me about om mani pade hum? Huh? C'mere and let me kick your collective ass. (You know I mean that in the fondest possible way.)
This just in from Chris:
* Message (#51) from Zero Card at 4:23 PM *
>Om Mani Padme Hum ROCKS!!!
>I didn't know you could use Tempus Sans as a webfont...
--- Message (#52) to Zero Card at 4:23 PM ---
-only if you're confident that most of your Audience has Tempus Sans installed,
-dear. :)
* Message (#53) from Zero Card at 4:23 PM *
>Well I kinda figured... but damn... I LOVE that font...
>*blinks*I cannot believe I just said that.
--- Message (#54) to Zero Card at 4:25 PM ---
-*cackles*
--- Message (#55) to Zero Card at 4:25 PM ---
-that is so going in the journal.
* Message (#56) from Zero Card at 4:25 PM *
>AAAAUUUGGGHHH!!!!
sundescending
a voice crackles out
and sounds like outer space
distant, crackly, uncomprehending
voice complaining silently to the void
they didn't send up any vodka
and I realize it might be speaking to me.
a sly look around. nobody else reacts.
uh-oh. I weave my fingers together
and wait for the voice. come again? silently.
and it mutters again, something about
slippers and neighbor kids. Figures.
I never get the cool voices that speak
in Russian or tell me to burn things.
just these voices that are concerned with trivia,
their last meals, the lyrics to Rent.
parsely, sage, rosemary, and enough time
for even the fabulous lean dogs of the summer retreating
to pause and snuff, delighted, at the ground
baring itself under us. voices pass,
I am unconcerned, the ferry floats past
and I am reminded of the mornings when I slip
into the waiting water and swim quietly
to a destination only I know.
tell me another story.
this one's worn thin.
--11.10.00
