Epic of the Intermittent Blog

Today I made rainbow swirl crayons by melting old broken peeled crayolas in a muffin tin in the oven. They look like psychadelic wax hockey pucks.

I also got an awesome picture of an unrequited love and his adorable cat. I miss him terribly. Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if he hadn't stayed in Colorado, and we were making plans together for winter, and the coming year....a little tug on the heartstrings, I suppose. I am just happy and relieved to hear from him and know he is alive and well. But I wonder a little bit, too.

I have been busy building kaleidoscopes.

And trying to teach myself to knit. I think it's really boring and I suck at it, but I am determined to make myself a pair of legwarmers before January, so I am a relentless and resolute yarn-maven for the time being.

We went to Amherst on Saturday, and poked around in some bookstores. I bought a secondhand wool sweater that made me think of snow. And lo and behold, it did indeed snow. A good day for books and scarves, all in all.

I made roast chicken and apple crisp. Ever since my Gran gave me her old mixing bowl and baking dish, I absolutely rock the culinary casbah. Kudos to the coven, the old wizmagic is working.

I was in Barnes and Noble the other night, poking around at kids books. I noticed I was being observed, or rather STARED at, by this strange middle-aged man. I lurked around the corner to shake him off, but was intercepted. Apparently his name was something like Maurice or Morty, and I reminded him of an "old friend". I was a little creeped out at first, but then again he seemed sincerely happy to have spotted me, in a non stalker-ish genuine way, and I was even a little touched when he said I had made his evening by reminding him of some really good memories. Hm. Curious.

I didn't find out more because Bryon rescued me from the situation by slipping a protective arm around my waist, although I wasn't really worried about being hit on at that point. The miniscule feminazi part of my brain wonders if I ought to be annoyed that my male counterpart felt it was his prerogative to be territorial, and scare off every middle aged hopeful putz who looks in my direction. But then again, being my partner and equal counterpart, it's good to know there's someone looking out for my well being and watching my back. Even when faced with an eager Maurice.

Anyway.

Thanksgiving was good, albeit wierd. Having Bryon with my family for dinner was awesome, and I got a little happy fuzzy feeling having most of my beloveds in one place. The turkey was not ours, since the wiznatches weren't up for cooking, and this year we temporarily held festivities at the atrium in the holiday Inn. Was kinda tacky, just as it sounds, but hey, I'm not that fussy about mashed potatoes and punkin pie. Yum.

I would like to note that apparently "I will get over it as soon as I am out of my twenties." Which I think means I will no longer have anything to blog about, and you will not have anything to make fun of, so screw that. So go put on your Celestial Helmet of Infinite Dorkdom and go play Morrowind. Give you something else to gossip about.Yeah, you know who you are. Now you're famous!!

(Just kidding, crazy uncles. I bet i'm going to hear about this at christmas)

Speaking of which, it's coming. I need to go bake cookies. Feeling festive.

Lalala.

Someplace Else

Nick just called me from the airport, waiting for his flight. We went to Maine on the spur of the moment last week, and talked the whole way up and back.  It was marvelous to escape from everything all of a sudden, and to be so far away from the ordinary things I know. ..just to be different for a little while. I had a revelation when we were standing on the deserted beach at dusk, looking at the empty pier and the hollow windows of the boathouses. It was a little awkward, remembering what it was like to want him, missing him slightly, and learning to be friends. We're different now, but still recalling things about it being springtime the last time we passed through that place, and all the secrets and jokes we told each other a long time ago. I think I still love him, but in a fuller, more rounded way. It feels alright now, to be close like this and not have to worry when we say goodbye.

Waiting

It is nearly 3:00 and I am still sitting in the Ugly Chair. This is bad.

I don't really want to go outside. It looks cold. I had half a mind to spend today rambling around the city like in the good ol' days, but then again, there is an apparent dearth of things left to explore here. I am bored. There is nothing to do on the weekend.

I need stuff to look at. With buttons that you can push. So more things happen.

His nibs the young architect suggested that I need a "project." I have discussed this issue quite often with myself, and frankly, I decided that I don't feel like being creative. Whether it be a drawing or a new means of conquering the universe at hand, I don't want to concentrate myself on anything. I just want to walk around and look at stuff. Yet I berate myself for not being productive in anyway. Why do I have to have something to show for myself every day, to justify my existence? Project-shmoject.

So I'm sitting here, still, writing. This is not a project. I don't have to have an intention for it. It just happens, and it is what it is. I like that.

Hm. Deep.

Maybe I am just hanging around waiting for him to get home, which is totally lame and stupid and pathetic, because once upon a time I recall adamantly declaring that you can't expect anyone to be your Be-All and End-All and have them fulfill everything you need and long for. That is a Bad Thing. But here I am, sitting in the ugly green chair, hanging out, wishing i were a little more self-sufficient.

Traditionally, this is the point at which I freak out and run away, or go hide somewhere in some rainy night with my headphones on, covering miles and miles of cityscape on my own.

Or sit around baring my soul to a computer.

When i was five, my first best friend was this looming monolith CPU called Thundr at the company my father worked for. I would pick out letters on the keyboard and T would respond by printing out primitive letter-pixel pictures of unicorns and dogs and turtles. I guess since then I've naturally taken to a digital format for putting my stuff out there. Hence my kickass Photoshop skills, my near-addiction to my broadband, and this wacky online journal. Mad props to Thundr, whose lovely circuits have long since passed on to silicon heaven. Sniffle.

Ok, i definitely need to go outside.

Fred Might Be From Texas

In my ongoing battle with Comcast, my internet has become a temporary casualty. Evil bastards! Fear me and my relentless fury!

So in the meantime, I get to sit in Bryon's Ugly Chair and type stuff. Except that i don't have much to write about, but a sense of obligation to my public and the creeping sensation of internet withdrawal is somehow keeping me here.

Um.

I remember lying around last Sunday theorizing about the systems of my ongoing melancholy. My inner ecologist pulled out her microscope, took a few mental pH tests, and scaned my existence for inherent biodiversity. The current hypothesis is something about a long- term parasitic relationship with this thing (I call him "Fred") who has coexisted in my biological realm for a long-ass time. Like any true parasite, this Fred-specimen lives off its host-animal (me), by nature slowly debilitating it without immediately destroying the source of its survival. In response, the parasitic victim develops systems to protect itself and thwart the parasite in order to prolong its survival. Biologically speaking, it's a battle of wills and ongoing adaptations. So while I often have  vulnerable days in which Fred sits on my head like a gloomy vulture, over the years I have developed tactics for self-preservation, like wearing green sweaters, being in love, going to new restaurants, buying lip gloss, stealing music,drawing pictures, or taking naps. Which makes my existence apparently like anyone else's, except that i partly do everything i do just to smother the stupid thing a little more and buy myself some time. I'm a tough, sneaky animal.

Rest assured, I will not be painting my blog black and bemoaning my paltry existence any time soon. Angst is boring. I'm certainly not despondent in any way shape or form, just trying to be aware of my personal ecology.

In other news, I recieved an offer to fly to Texas for Thanksgiving. I've been mulling it over this week, not to seriously decide whether or not I ought to go, but what exactly the implications of such an offer might mean. Now, in any ordinary circumstances it would not be unheard of to accompany someone to another state on an airplane to eat some turkey, but the thing becomes a little awkward when:

1. this person is one of my dearest friends, yet


2. said traveling companion is a former and still unresolved love interest;


3. has offered to pay full fare and boarding for the pleasure of my company (overnight?);


4. is fully aware that I am happily ensconced in a blissful romance with another person;


5. is subtly attempting to subvert aforementioned romance with nostalgia and flirtation;


6. is being a generally sketchy character all around, although most behavior has been forgiven in the intrest of comraderie and friendship;


7. and NO WAY IN HELL AM I EVER SETTING FOOT IN TEXAS (again).

The thing is, I know better than to really think anything of it, because it's barely a threat and I'm pretty sure the offer was made in idle impulse. But still, it tweaks my consternation just a little.

I was having visions earlier of being put in charge of Thanksgiving dinner this year, since the other members of the Coven are a bit under the weather. Then I thought about having my mashed potatoes scrutinized by the ever critical elder wiznatches, and i thougt i might keep my turkey to myself. I will have to save my culinary self-justification for another year, when the matriarchs least expect it. At least Bryon appreciates my cooking.

Okay, my brain is empty now. No more things to say.

"Admitting you have a problem

is the first step to wallowing in it."

Train of Thought

this is fun.

At least, it's better than taking those stupid e-quizzes. I don't really want to know what kind of tofu I am, or what kind of natural disaster I most resemble.

(i hate tofu / earthquake)

And it  has buttons you can push!

we all know how much i like pushing buttons.

Purple Sumo hippos! Yeah!

http://www.stud.ntnu.no/home/alexann/

Red. 

sassy-brassy red jezebel!

Apparently, he noticed.

I noticed, too.

(That he noticed, I mean)

missed connection

Night....

...is better with the one you love.

My New Hero

"She says,

 'I wanna do right...

....but not right now.' "