Oh yeah, sarcasm. I hate snow, which is a very recent thing, hrm since this winter actually, I hate it very much, and when it warms up, we will get it. Thats how it works kiddies, from crazy-freezing to warm... snow, and back from warm to witch-tit-freezing... snow, and most likely snow when its warm too. Maybe even snow when its cold (but I still dont think its very likely).
Soon I will have to seek the confines, err, comfort, or my bed in preparation for tomorrow's snow, but until then...
LAlalalalalalala.... I will sing a happy song, for lela's mother is doing better, and might come home tomorrow! I recrochetted her hat, thinking only happy warm fuzzy thoughts, and now it doesnt make me feel icky:) But I might need more yarn... so it wont be finished until the weekend :(
Hugs and kisses go out to all my peeps, especially noonie, and lela, and mumsa, and sophie.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Sunday evening blues
I work tomorrow, isnt that sad? Eh I need the money, and no I dont like thinking about my imminent release from my current 40 hour week. You see I only have a certain amount of hours, 1,000 to be exact, that I can work where I am currently. But Im tired of the humdrum that is my job. I dislike working with the guy who has been hired to replace me, (oh dont get me wrong hes nice and all, but I have a raw nose now), Im tired of macho Mexicans who are all secretly cheating on their wives, and gosh it was fun for a while, but I am damned tired of ass-watching with those same macho Mexicans.
To be honest whats really bugging me right now, is I dont know what to do about lela. Hehe, I get secrete pleasure out of calling her that, being a mommy name :P But seriously lela's mother, aka mumsa, is very sick, and has been, on and off, for a good long while, and is currently in hospital with a high fever. Now anyone who reads lela's blog, hrm lets see if I can remember my html... Present Tense Imperfect, knows about her mother's health, but I get to see the family on a semi regular basis, I have seen mumsa spend all day sleeping, because she lacks the energy to get up off the couch.
Grr makes me grumpy. My adamantine apathy is crumbling under this onslaught. I seriously worry about how I will hold up as one of her bestest friends in the whole world, my words not hers, if the family collapses.
Okay I'll see yer fatalism lela, and raise you 50.
I have been making a warm soft fuzzy hat for mumsa, with my newfound crochetting skills, and today I made it to the end of my skein, (of course I need more yarn). Somebody said something beautiful once, maybe it was the Ba'ab, about creation being a sort of prayer. When I crochet, I try to think happy warm thoughts, you know to reinforce the innate warmth-giving power of said scarf or hat, but mostly I fail and end up wandering mentally all over, and I sometimes find myself falling into a bit of trance, just thinking no further than 'yarn-over, push through, yarn-over, pull through, yarn-over, pull through' and will 'wake up' hours later, with a cramp in my fingers and arm. Today I was a wreck. I couldnt think straight, thinking what will happen whens and what ifs, I lost track of my stiches, dropped some, added others, the poor hat is misshappen, hardly worthy of anyone's head. Im tempted to pull it all apart, and start over.
Undo all my negative thoughts.
To be honest whats really bugging me right now, is I dont know what to do about lela. Hehe, I get secrete pleasure out of calling her that, being a mommy name :P But seriously lela's mother, aka mumsa, is very sick, and has been, on and off, for a good long while, and is currently in hospital with a high fever. Now anyone who reads lela's blog, hrm lets see if I can remember my html... Present Tense Imperfect, knows about her mother's health, but I get to see the family on a semi regular basis, I have seen mumsa spend all day sleeping, because she lacks the energy to get up off the couch.
Grr makes me grumpy. My adamantine apathy is crumbling under this onslaught. I seriously worry about how I will hold up as one of her bestest friends in the whole world, my words not hers, if the family collapses.
Okay I'll see yer fatalism lela, and raise you 50.
I have been making a warm soft fuzzy hat for mumsa, with my newfound crochetting skills, and today I made it to the end of my skein, (of course I need more yarn). Somebody said something beautiful once, maybe it was the Ba'ab, about creation being a sort of prayer. When I crochet, I try to think happy warm thoughts, you know to reinforce the innate warmth-giving power of said scarf or hat, but mostly I fail and end up wandering mentally all over, and I sometimes find myself falling into a bit of trance, just thinking no further than 'yarn-over, push through, yarn-over, pull through, yarn-over, pull through' and will 'wake up' hours later, with a cramp in my fingers and arm. Today I was a wreck. I couldnt think straight, thinking what will happen whens and what ifs, I lost track of my stiches, dropped some, added others, the poor hat is misshappen, hardly worthy of anyone's head. Im tempted to pull it all apart, and start over.
Undo all my negative thoughts.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Oh my, Wil Weaton is sexxy
So I was listening to this radio interview with the ex-Mr. Crusher, which by the way is real weird to hear, cuse its through the puter and cuse hes really articulate. Hell, its strange to hear Wesley's voice, or maybe what would be his voice if he grew up.
Okay I know I never really liked Wesley, being more agog over Pidard, or warIv (Worf), hell ever Yar, well cuse he was this annoying genious kid, but I have no reason to hate the man now... I mean he was just a kid. And he was playing this kid character. I even feel sorta sorry for the bugger, I mean as he tells his story, one understands a bit what shit it is, being a child actor.
Now I have a friend who was all... dont beat down on Wil, cuse hes a cool guy, I know him, you know... but this was years ago, and now I see her point. The man is cool. And now hes a writer!
He says write everyday. Hah, if he had my killer job, Id like to see him write every day... but Ill see what I can do, Mr. Weaton.
Okay I know I never really liked Wesley, being more agog over Pidard, or warIv (Worf), hell ever Yar, well cuse he was this annoying genious kid, but I have no reason to hate the man now... I mean he was just a kid. And he was playing this kid character. I even feel sorta sorry for the bugger, I mean as he tells his story, one understands a bit what shit it is, being a child actor.
Now I have a friend who was all... dont beat down on Wil, cuse hes a cool guy, I know him, you know... but this was years ago, and now I see her point. The man is cool. And now hes a writer!
He says write everyday. Hah, if he had my killer job, Id like to see him write every day... but Ill see what I can do, Mr. Weaton.
Continuation of Rain Stories, but slightly colder now
Yes, I went off and wrote some shite which Im now gonna wack right here cuse I want some critism, yes be liberal, yes be harsh, I need the pokes. and yes its fanfic... of Buffy, gosh I look like a total dweeb, but there is no slash, and prolly will never be.
Lonewolf and Hyenaboy
Chapter One. Pallet on the Floor
Weeding is calm work. Playing little games of “one of these things is not like the other” singing strange half songs under his breath, he could do this all day. It is lucky that he was so unruffled about the work, because he does have to do this all day.
“Someone has been neglecting you, little potatoes.” He was almost done in this bed, easing weeds from around the tuberous rhizomes and tossing them in a pile to be composted later. Next were the tomatoes. Hopefully this year the petite tomatoes would be as delicious as they were last year. Danny spent the next few minutes daydreaming about little yellow cherry tomatoes, his mouth watering in anticipation.
When he stood in a stretch to loosen sore muscles from crouching all morning, he felt the air change, signaling a late spring shower, and thought about bringing in the laundry before finishing on the vegetables. If it didn’t rain too hard he could still weed while it drizzled.
Danny was satisfied with his life here in these half-wild woods, it was a wonderful change from the Hellmouth. Here, it was calm, not surprising, far as he was from any civilization really. Yes, there was lots of hard work, to keep the little Maine cabin cozy and snug against the weather, but each night he would sleep the untroubled sleep of the weary. There was very little to trouble him, except the age-old problems of rain and pests.
And the full moon.
It was not longer much of a problem, now that he was so isolated, but he made it a point of not becoming attached, the teachings he had learned in Tibet held him in good stead and he could control his changes. He had chosen this cabin for its isolation, in fact, a retreat from the world. Tthe woods behind his property were protected national forests, and this place was peaceful enough, so that he could go untroubled through his life. He had a beautiful place to meditate, he had long tracks of land in which he could safely run, and he had his work, the surplus of which could always be sold at the market, or bartered for thing he couldn’t make himself. He had enough. He was content.
He never asked himself anymore if he was happy. Happiness came at too high a price. Willow had shown him the danger in that and now, he no longer wanted close intimate human interaction. The contact he had with the outside world was strained and stilted enough when he made his weekly summer journeys into town for the market. In the winter his isolation became even more acute, when he could barely leave for months on end, snowed in, as he was wont to become.
While lost in thought he quickly bundled all the laundry inside before the first fat drops of rain started to fall, it was still damp, but he could hang it back up later, and it would still have time to catch the afternoon sun. And weeding in the rain is really no hardship, mud made the weeds easier to pull. It was while he was weeding in the rain that his life changed again, between one breath and the next.
When he thought about it later, Danny would wonder why he had not caught the stranger’s sent earlier, but the man was suddenly at the edge of his garden clearing when the rain started to fall harder and Danny was thinking about going inside to dry off. Maybe he would have a bite to eat. He looked up, startled a twig snapping, and looking at the man standing there, tall, dark and wary. Danny doubted the twig was an accident. It was Xander, a feral and strange Xander, not truely a stranger, but a man long removed from the boy he knew in Sunnydale
Danny motioned his guest to follow him to the cabin, for it seemed hardly appropriate to leave Xander standing out in the rain when he himself was about to be warm, dry and full of decent food. Xander followed after a moment, like a stray dog, leaving a fair distance between him and any possible threat. At the threshold of the door he paused again, recognizing the shorter man’s reticence as the test it was, before stepping silently into the cabin.
In a room barely large enough for the few furnishing and the two men, Danny bustled about doing the normal things one did when entering a cabin, after shucking his wet outer layers of clothing. He coaxed the banked coals in his fireplace back to full flame, stirred a covered pot, from which the welcome smells of stew wafted about the place, lighted a kerosene lamp, and pushed his still wet laundry all bundled in a wicker basket into a far corner.
All the comfortable necessary movements of home might have been acts of strained normalcy but in doing so Danny made his small home welcome to his visitor, who had standing resolutely silent just across the lintel during the whole operation.
Danny was saddened and surprised at the silence of his guest. Xander, it seemed had run some pretty difficult trails; he was silent and lean the way a half starved fox was lean. When he finally deigned to step into the light, Danny saw he had lost more than his jokesters personality, or some weight: he had lost an eye somewhere along the way. Danny had not noticed it before, because the taller man held his face in such a way that his empty eye-socket had been shadowed by his hat. Motioning again, not seeing a need for words, Danny sat his guest on the only chair, close to the fire, and cut a half loaf of bread, and a wedge of sharp cheese. While the werewolf’s back was turned Xander had pushed the chair up against the wall in a move, Danny noticed, which left the taller man guarded at his back.
He hadn’t heard from the gang in a long time, he truly hadn’t felt the need, but in some cases, he wondered if he had not done his once friends justice by his long silence.
Why had Xander come here? Well, perhaps he wouldn’t get an answer from this new quieter, more wary version of an old friend, but he could at least put some food in front of him.
Lonewolf and Hyenaboy
Chapter One. Pallet on the Floor
Weeding is calm work. Playing little games of “one of these things is not like the other” singing strange half songs under his breath, he could do this all day. It is lucky that he was so unruffled about the work, because he does have to do this all day.
“Someone has been neglecting you, little potatoes.” He was almost done in this bed, easing weeds from around the tuberous rhizomes and tossing them in a pile to be composted later. Next were the tomatoes. Hopefully this year the petite tomatoes would be as delicious as they were last year. Danny spent the next few minutes daydreaming about little yellow cherry tomatoes, his mouth watering in anticipation.
When he stood in a stretch to loosen sore muscles from crouching all morning, he felt the air change, signaling a late spring shower, and thought about bringing in the laundry before finishing on the vegetables. If it didn’t rain too hard he could still weed while it drizzled.
Danny was satisfied with his life here in these half-wild woods, it was a wonderful change from the Hellmouth. Here, it was calm, not surprising, far as he was from any civilization really. Yes, there was lots of hard work, to keep the little Maine cabin cozy and snug against the weather, but each night he would sleep the untroubled sleep of the weary. There was very little to trouble him, except the age-old problems of rain and pests.
And the full moon.
It was not longer much of a problem, now that he was so isolated, but he made it a point of not becoming attached, the teachings he had learned in Tibet held him in good stead and he could control his changes. He had chosen this cabin for its isolation, in fact, a retreat from the world. Tthe woods behind his property were protected national forests, and this place was peaceful enough, so that he could go untroubled through his life. He had a beautiful place to meditate, he had long tracks of land in which he could safely run, and he had his work, the surplus of which could always be sold at the market, or bartered for thing he couldn’t make himself. He had enough. He was content.
He never asked himself anymore if he was happy. Happiness came at too high a price. Willow had shown him the danger in that and now, he no longer wanted close intimate human interaction. The contact he had with the outside world was strained and stilted enough when he made his weekly summer journeys into town for the market. In the winter his isolation became even more acute, when he could barely leave for months on end, snowed in, as he was wont to become.
While lost in thought he quickly bundled all the laundry inside before the first fat drops of rain started to fall, it was still damp, but he could hang it back up later, and it would still have time to catch the afternoon sun. And weeding in the rain is really no hardship, mud made the weeds easier to pull. It was while he was weeding in the rain that his life changed again, between one breath and the next.
When he thought about it later, Danny would wonder why he had not caught the stranger’s sent earlier, but the man was suddenly at the edge of his garden clearing when the rain started to fall harder and Danny was thinking about going inside to dry off. Maybe he would have a bite to eat. He looked up, startled a twig snapping, and looking at the man standing there, tall, dark and wary. Danny doubted the twig was an accident. It was Xander, a feral and strange Xander, not truely a stranger, but a man long removed from the boy he knew in Sunnydale
Danny motioned his guest to follow him to the cabin, for it seemed hardly appropriate to leave Xander standing out in the rain when he himself was about to be warm, dry and full of decent food. Xander followed after a moment, like a stray dog, leaving a fair distance between him and any possible threat. At the threshold of the door he paused again, recognizing the shorter man’s reticence as the test it was, before stepping silently into the cabin.
In a room barely large enough for the few furnishing and the two men, Danny bustled about doing the normal things one did when entering a cabin, after shucking his wet outer layers of clothing. He coaxed the banked coals in his fireplace back to full flame, stirred a covered pot, from which the welcome smells of stew wafted about the place, lighted a kerosene lamp, and pushed his still wet laundry all bundled in a wicker basket into a far corner.
All the comfortable necessary movements of home might have been acts of strained normalcy but in doing so Danny made his small home welcome to his visitor, who had standing resolutely silent just across the lintel during the whole operation.
Danny was saddened and surprised at the silence of his guest. Xander, it seemed had run some pretty difficult trails; he was silent and lean the way a half starved fox was lean. When he finally deigned to step into the light, Danny saw he had lost more than his jokesters personality, or some weight: he had lost an eye somewhere along the way. Danny had not noticed it before, because the taller man held his face in such a way that his empty eye-socket had been shadowed by his hat. Motioning again, not seeing a need for words, Danny sat his guest on the only chair, close to the fire, and cut a half loaf of bread, and a wedge of sharp cheese. While the werewolf’s back was turned Xander had pushed the chair up against the wall in a move, Danny noticed, which left the taller man guarded at his back.
He hadn’t heard from the gang in a long time, he truly hadn’t felt the need, but in some cases, he wondered if he had not done his once friends justice by his long silence.
Why had Xander come here? Well, perhaps he wouldn’t get an answer from this new quieter, more wary version of an old friend, but he could at least put some food in front of him.
Monday, January 10, 2005
The saddest movie ever
So this weekend, my x and I, you remember the girl from my cow story, yes thats her, we went on a music buying binge this weekend. Well along the way, she bought a sweet little saz, and I bought the saddest movie ever. Now, I dont make that pronouncement lightly, it is sersiously the saddest movie, EVER.
198 mins of solid tearjerking sadness, and by the end I was sobbing, you know gut wrenching sobs of absolute dejection. God if I had been alone I would seriously never come out of my cave of solitude... Okay Im not Superman, but you get the idea. What movie is this?
Devdas. I suppose it could be said that this is the Gone with the Wind of bollywood, yeah, bollywood. As in Indian, as in big dance scenes, as in the most beautiful costumes, and the most beautiful people.
Im not biased at all.
And I want everyone to see it, so this weekend, yer all invited over to some movie watching at my place, on my ginormous tv. Just phone ahead :P
198 mins of solid tearjerking sadness, and by the end I was sobbing, you know gut wrenching sobs of absolute dejection. God if I had been alone I would seriously never come out of my cave of solitude... Okay Im not Superman, but you get the idea. What movie is this?
Devdas. I suppose it could be said that this is the Gone with the Wind of bollywood, yeah, bollywood. As in Indian, as in big dance scenes, as in the most beautiful costumes, and the most beautiful people.
Im not biased at all.
And I want everyone to see it, so this weekend, yer all invited over to some movie watching at my place, on my ginormous tv. Just phone ahead :P
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Rain stories
When ever it rains, as it did last night, (yeah I know, it is still the middle of winter IN Chigago, but what can you do?) I cant help but think about writing. Of course, I hardly ever get around to doing the actual writing itself, but I have my best thinks when it rains.
So what were my thoughts last night? Hrm, its not like I remember! I slept early, lulled by the sweet pittering persipitation, after having played all day like a giddy ten year old school girl who has snuck into her mother's makeup. Christ on a crutch, Im a twenty-something woman who has just discovered the joy of being feminine, you know, wearing makeup and flatering clothes.
My family is shocked.
But I digress, I am talking about the rain. I love rain. Sometimes I think I would love the Northwest, settle down in Vancouver, or something, but damn I love my beautiful rolling cornfields. No, central Illinois is NOT flat, thats what my unproductive years at University tought me, and yes, that is where I want to return. Me, the city girl. Id go commune with cows, and get rained on.
Gah, Im lying, I know what I thought about last night. I have been writing this one particual piece of fanfic for about two years, and have about 200 words, and when ever I look at it, I remember why I dont write for a living. You see its raining in the story, and all I can think about is what... damn I love you, blog... /me hugs her blog
I have some writing to do... I had a brainstorm.
So what were my thoughts last night? Hrm, its not like I remember! I slept early, lulled by the sweet pittering persipitation, after having played all day like a giddy ten year old school girl who has snuck into her mother's makeup. Christ on a crutch, Im a twenty-something woman who has just discovered the joy of being feminine, you know, wearing makeup and flatering clothes.
My family is shocked.
But I digress, I am talking about the rain. I love rain. Sometimes I think I would love the Northwest, settle down in Vancouver, or something, but damn I love my beautiful rolling cornfields. No, central Illinois is NOT flat, thats what my unproductive years at University tought me, and yes, that is where I want to return. Me, the city girl. Id go commune with cows, and get rained on.
Gah, Im lying, I know what I thought about last night. I have been writing this one particual piece of fanfic for about two years, and have about 200 words, and when ever I look at it, I remember why I dont write for a living. You see its raining in the story, and all I can think about is what... damn I love you, blog... /me hugs her blog
I have some writing to do... I had a brainstorm.
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