racing to unread the book of our love

I’d like to take back my not saying to you
those things that, out of politeness, or caution,
I kept to myself. And, if I may--
though this might perhaps stretch the rules--I’d like
to take back your not saying some of the things
that you never said, like “I love you” and “Won’t you
come home with me,” or telling me, which
you in fact never did, perhaps in the newly
refurbished café at the Vancouver Art
Gallery as fresh drops of the downpour from which
we’d sought shelter glinted in your hair like jewels,
or windshields of cars as seen from a plane
that has just taken off or is just coming in
for a landing, when the sun is at just the right angle,
that try as you might, you could not imagine
a life without me. The passionate spark
that would have flared up in your eye as you said this--
if you had said this--I dream of it often.
I won’t take those back, those dreams, though I would,
if I could, take back your not kissing me, openly,
extravagantly, not caring who saw,
or those looks of anonymous animal longing
you’d throw everyone else in the room. I’d like
to retract my retracting, just before I grabbed you,
my grabbing you on the steps of the New York
Public Library (our failure to visit
which I would also like to recall)
and shouting for all to hear, “You, you
and only you!” Yes, I’d like to take back
my not frightening the pigeons that day with my wild
protestations of uncontrolled love, my not scaring
them off into orbit, frantic and mad,
even as I now sit alone, frantic and mad,
racing to unread the book of our love
before you can finish unwriting it.

[Troy Jollimore, 'Regret', from At Lake Scugog: Poems]

home is a shelter from storms - all sorts of storms

    Well, the deed is done. Pretty much. I'm moved, with the help of nine friends. They: helped me pack; cleaned (like removing the foil from the windows in the bedroom!); organized; disassembled and reassembled furniture; hefted boxes (yes, mostly of books), furniture, sensitive plants, and miscellaneous odds and ends stuffed into bags; two special people bought and made food for an army, which both fed the army that was here yesterday and will cover my lunches and dinner for a few days, until I have my life back in order; drove the moving truck; and most of all--they were there when I literally couldn't have done it without them. What a treasure are these friends.

    Now, "all" that's left is to clean the old apartment and move the last bits of stuff that weren't ready to go yesterday when we were ready to roll--some exercise stuff, the contents of the closet in my office (which is, admittedly, a nightmare that I'd been unwilling to attack!), and the cleaning supplies that are needed to finish the job. And then, to return the borrowed items from my place of work (a dolly and the first of several dozen boxes, which will be reused...again...). And then, to return to the new place.

    It's quiet here. Really quiet. Good-quiet, of course, with no one audible through the wall, no bars within walking distance, the fire/police station now a mile away. I hear birds, rain, thunder, and the occasional car driving by at 25 mph. And the sounds of my own silence, which isn't yet comfortable in this vast, messy space. (So much unpacking to do, and so much to organize. And recycle, give away, sell, or toss. I will never move this much again!)

[title quotation from William J. Bennett]

Come to me but only when I say

Don't tell me we're not like plants,
sending out a shoot when we need to,
or spikes, poisonous oils, or flowers.

Come to me but only when I say,
that's how plants announce

the rules of propagation.
Even children know this. You can
see them imitating all the moves

with their bright plastic toys.
So that, years later, at the moment

the girl's body finally says yes
to the end of childhood,
a green pail with an orange shovel

will appear in her mind like a tropical
blossom she has never seen before.

[Chase Twichell, 'Erotic Energy', from The Snow Watcher: Poems]

all you have to do is close your eyes, and just reach out your hands

    At this time tomorrow, my move will be, for all intents and purposes, done. Everything that seems impossible now (you'd be horrified to see how much has yet to be packed) will have been done, by hook or by crook. What remains will be done sometime within the couple of days after—as long as I've cleared out my things and cleaned before close of business on Tuesday, I'm happy. As long as we move the furniture (the heavy, big furniture) tomorrow, that will happen with no trouble.
    The harder part will be about 24 hours from now, 48 hours from now, 72 hours from now. When the excitement, pressure, work of the day is over, when I'm dead on my feet, and I'm all alone. Alone in my blissfully quiet apartment, which seems much more like a house than an apartment, really. When I settle in to go to sleep...and I might just have some trouble with that. I might just feel too isolated, too alone.
    Six and a half years ago, when I moved into this place, I had a friend who knew (without asking, without being told) what the big move meant. That makes it sound like no one else did, which is inaccurate. But he knew how worked up I was about the little stuff, how I'd gone through months of anxiety about whether I could be alone, at all. This probably sounds impossible to some of y'all, who've known me only since then, a period in which solitude and silence are such a huge part of me. But I had to train myself to stand it, even for a little while. And the first night that I was to sleep alone in this apartment... it wasn't going to go well. It wouldn't have, I'm sure, had I not received a phone call at just the right time, from just the right person, saying just the right things. He alternately made me laugh, and challenged me, and made me talk (tell him stories), and kept me talking, until I was too sleepy to stay awake for a moment longer. And then, as I was about to fall asleep, he said 'goodnight', and that he'd talk to me tomorrow. I fell asleep knowing—not just "believing", but knowing—that he would. He got me through that night. There were others, too, but that one is unforgettable.
    I know I can get through the night tomorrow, and the next night, and the next—at least literally. But it's a different thing to want there to be someone caring about me that way, and to miss someone who's not there.

[title quotation from More than Words by Extreme]

it's a feeling of slipping without falling. The hardest thing is when you're at the bottom...

1. Are you a born leader? not hardly. I can fake it well, though.
2. Have you had a "nasty break up"? not in the traditional sense, although looking at it from the outside, the divorce would probably count for that
3. Is being paparazzi a cool job? no, it's a discrete circle of Hell
4. Do you know where to look when someone says "2 o'clock", "9 o'clock", etc.? yup
5. Do you like writing random stuff on your hand when school's getting boring? no, mostly because I tend to touch my face often and so I transfer the ink. I doodle on paper all the time, though.
6. Have you watched a hentai before? Do you even know what that is? admitting this is like admitting to shaving off someone's eyebrow, isn't it?
7. What's your favorite color combination? black & blue
8. Do you memorize both of your parents' phone numbers? like, both of their cell phone numbers?! 'Cause my parents only have the same land line as each other, and it's the same one they've had since before I was born.
9. Ever experienced sleepwalking? I've done it a couple of times, but only since I've lived in this apartment. Which makes me wonder if I should put a child gate on the basement stairs at the new place...?
10. How do you handle it when your significant other does/says something awkward?
    immediately break up, of course
11. Name one flick that made you cry. The Big Blue
12. Do you like sleeping just wearing your underwear and a top? I like sleeping in pretty much any permutation I can get away with, especially lately. Put a brick on my head and invite a Dixieland band and I'll still get a good couple hours' in.
13. Is Megan Fox hot? so I've heard. I wouldn't necessarily concur; she's got the same trashy vibe that Lips Pitt rocks, which has never worked for me.
14. If someone tells you you're childish, do you get offended? maybe not if it was phrased that way; tell me I'm being childish, though, and it's a different story
15. Is there any difference between a novel and a book a novel is "an invented prose narrative that is usually long and complex and deals especially with human experience through a usually connected sequence of events"; a book is a physical entity that can, but does not necessarily, contain such a thing
16. Give one significant date in your life. 4 November 1999
17. Why is it significant? admission to the bar. Graduation from law school seemed like a big deal, but it paled in comparison to that solemn day.
18. "Nobody puts baby in the corner"--do you know which movie this line came from? of course, although it reminds me of someone (unrelated to the film) who is unlikeable
19. Do you see the point in purity rings? meh. You do what you've got to do to get through the day. I wish that sex didn't have to be a toggle switch in our culture - "bad" until it's "acceptable" - but the presence or absence of purity rings isn't going to change that. I'm just glad that no one ever tried to foist such a concept on me when I was that age.
20. Do you know how to stalk without being creepy? I do. My particular blend of education, skills, and inherent ninja-vibe make it easy.

[from The Cat, of course, who got it here; the title quotation is from The Big Blue - the rest of it is: "Why?" "'Cause you have to find a good reason to come back up...and I have a hard time finding one."]

and I would have stayed up with you all night...

    A dear friend - one of those friends who will never truly understand how dear he is, because he is incapable of perceiving his own worth in such terms—has set me off in search of understanding what it means 'to save a life.' Specifically, he's made it clear that I have indeed saved his, and he (not "in turn") wants to save mine. I smile ruefully as I write this; does it not require that my life will require 'saving' at some point? Well, in all likelihood, it will. It has, before. And it's been saved. In big ways, and in uncountably more small ways, the infinitely more vital small ways.
    What does it mean to save a life? To love somebody, enough, to? I think it means, to mean to be there. To be there, with intent. This is not accidental presence, just finding oneself in the same elevator. It is to seek the company of one who needs one's company, whether they can (or will) seek it, or not.
    It means, in visual terms, stuff like this, things I've found as I've packed. Proof that this life's been saved...
    Postcards from friends in far-away places (thinking of friends when we can't be together)
    silly gifts (so much bacon! and voodoo! and Gumby is doing something illegal with Pokey...)
    ...including silly gifts that involve intrigue
    It takes an extremely special man, one who is firm in his masculinity and his role in life and friendship, to create a bat-rack that he knows (or even has an inkling) will be used, as a secondary purpose, for displaying jewelry
    grace
    sweet notes, hidden in plain sight
    sweet notes, packed in boxes, displayed from the moment they arrived
    The Best. Bookmark. EVERRRRRRR. (found at work, and enjoyed with my colleagues)
    It's Burqa Furor. What more can be said?
    A gift from a man I never dated, but wanted to. I think it was a sly compliment.
    Some quotes from the queen of malapropisms

    George - sigh
    one of my closest colleagues is a great deal more, um, positive than I am. You've perhaps heard of Arthur?
    My world-traveler friend has had some terrifically bad dating luck. Thankfully, she's been kind enough to share it with me, in the form of cautionary tales.
    Even my colleague with whom I most frequently have reason to disagree can make me smile, as with this mock-up
    Poor H. She didn't quite get the gist of this, at first, and thought it implied a compliment to vegetarians. That was a rough day.
    World-Traveler Girl was previously in my employ, and as such, was required to leave messages for me. They were often left in the form of illustrated notes - or just illustrations.

    Did I make my point? It's not the stuff, so much. It's the message that matters. And wanting to convey it. It's asking the question and waiting (or pushing) for the answer. It's checking in, periodically, to see if the silence is just the usual weather, or if there's been a climactic change that requires adjustment. It's the hugs that take your breath away, not because they squeeze the air out of your lungs but because of what they mean, what you mean. That, maybe, is how to save a life.

[title quotation from "How to Save a Life" by The Fray]

grinding your spiritual teeth

    He said, "Me, I think too much. Not a good thing."

    "Why? Why is that not good?"

    "It wears down your soul. It's like grinding your spiritual teeth," he said. "Dreaming is the healthy alternative. Even nightmares once in a while. Sometimes a nightmare is like a strong wind sweeping through a house."

[Julia Glass, in The Whole World Over]

poetry is about the grief

    Yesterday, after an argument that was probably a long time coming, Ulysses and I mutually decided that we shouldn't see each other anymore. Depending on your feelings about him and the situation in general, this is perhaps good news. I can't say I'm surprised by it, but it has knocked me off-center to some extent. He's been a part of my life for a long time. Adjusting to an absence can be hard, too.
    One of the people that I told yesterday - because she happened to be there, not because I sought her out, particularly - responded with, "lol, how can you break up when you were never dating in the first place?"
    Ouch, thanks for your honesty if nothing else; I won't be bothering you with that sort of thing again. And, for the record, a breakup is an experience, not a semantic or legalistic event. If that's what I/he/we felt, then that's what it was. If it's not what you perceived, then that's your own failure of imagination or empathy.
    I expect a weekend of wound-licking and self-absorption. Next week, though, I'll be too damned busy to focus too much on all this. Whew.

[title quotation by Robert Frost]

metaphysics means nothing but an unusually obstinate effort to think clearly

    The unsexiest thing in the world: listening to a bed repetitively squeaking through these apartment walls. Fer the love a Mike, get some common sense; if you can hear me washing my dishes, you've got to realize that I can hear you...doing...that. Ugh.
    The coolest thing I've seen in a while: the refreshingly genuine-seeming attitude of this young man, when surprised by his hero during a hometown concert. I hadn't been a big crazy fan of either of theirs, and I've never ever watched the show, but this is just a really nice response to a big surprise. [link died]
    Uh, my brother is engaged?!
    The simultaneously most and least anticipated weekend of the summer: July 15, when I've been invited to a "reunion" of the college theatre group of which I was, at best, a hanger-on. My former spouse, on the other hand, was a key member. He, oddly, has not been invited. At last count, it's me and the organizer who've accepted the invitation. The organizer, interestingly, is the person I was just about to launch a flirtation with (bad grammar, but you get my drift) when I started seriously dating the person whom I later married. He—the organizer, I shall call him "Mark"—was also in my wedding. It does get interesting-er and interesting-er.
    Points to ponder: is "bugfuck crazy" more crazy than "batshit crazy"? Is it healthier (mentally, of course) to envision one's blog as a conversation with, say, far-away friends, or with a version of oneself? Is it possible to be too forgiving? Is it more likely to be nowhere near forgiving enough?
    I didn't finish any of the tasks I'd resolved to complete today. Prehaps tomorrow; I've a dental appointment, and nearly half the day off besides.

[title quotation by William James, from The Principles of Psychology]

reading - the best state yet to keep absolute loneliness at bay

1. What is your favorite weekend activity?
   reading. I don't get nearly enough time to do it during the week, so I like to really devote my weekends to it. Sometime in June, I look forward to succeeding at that again.
2. How does the weather affect your weekend plans? Does it matter?
   I like to read best when it's raining hard, all day long, but it doesn't really matter, since I read indoors.
3. When does your weekend start and when does it end?
   weekend starts at 5:05 PM Friday and ends somewhere around 8:30 AM Monday
4. Can you recommend a good weekend getaway place?
   yes, but it's by invitation only: I love to spend weekends, holidays, etc., at the Cat-Beast's. Perfect relaxation combined with good food and laughing until my face hurts.
5. Do you spend weekends alone or with other people?
   generally, totally alone
6. What would your fantasy weekend look like?
   my real fantasy weekend would be NC-17 at the very least - I'm not even touching that one here!
7. Do you have any special weekend rituals?
   sleeping late, reading voraciously, eating perhaps differently (although not in any organized fashion - sometimes more complicated meals, sometimes more obvious comfort food, sometimes special take-out) than during the week, dressing "comfortably", watching sports. Hey, once I've moved, I might be able to get the newspaper again. oooh...

[snatched from The Cat, who got it here; title quotation from William Styron]

sweat silently. Let's have no squawking about a little expenditure of energy.

    Had the dreaded "I'm moving out" conversation with my current landlord (female version) this morning. It went pretty much as badly as I'd thought it might - she was pissed, though not exactly at me. More like, "Aw crap, we thought we had it all settled and now we're losing a good one." The problem, from my perspective? The very next words out of her mouth: "Well, you know we'll have to be showing it."
OMFGWTFBBQYou mean, for the next two weeks, while I'm trying to pack in an organized (HA!) way, and get people corralled to help me move on the first national holiday of the summer (HA!), and also work full-time and not completely lose what's left of my mind, I'm also supposed to keep my apartment clean and tidy enough for random strangers to be poking through it, wanting to rent it?! Are you freakin' kidding me?!
    So, step one, tonight, is to get all financial information that's just lounging around on my desk the fook OFFF my desk and filed away, as it should have been a long time ago. And to get the carpet vacuumed, the dishes washed, the bathroom turned back into a girl bathroom (i.e. mostly clean & tidy), the garbage out, the empty boxes stacked, the packed boxes stacked more sensibly, and the bed moved so it's in front of the bedroom windows that are covered with foil (so the landlords won't have to deal with answering that particular question until I'm safely out of this place). Ughhhhhhh. So much for reading a book with my feet up, ordering a pizza for dinner, writing a long, lazy blog post about How to Save a Life, and maybe going to bed early.

[title quotation by Martin H. Fischer]

the world is all the richer for having a devil in it, so long as we keep our foot upon his neck

    All the recent talk about tattoos (mine and others) has prompted another flurry of searching for The Next One. (When will it end? Nobody knows.) I'm leaning toward a Korean dragon on my left thigh, at least part turquoise. A couple of friends have indicated a preference that it "climb" my leg, rather than "prowl". Since the image that I have is horizontal, I'll need to find something new. The best candidates so far are this "tribal" dragon (which, oddly, has three legs):

And this one, which has an awfully devilish look for my purposes:
In searching for them, though, I found what I think is the coolest tattoo EVER, which I would get if (a) I weren't such a wuss, and (b) I had the body for it, which alas, I do not:
I would also like a small, plain, Asian-inspired line drawing of a mouse, somewhat like this lion:
    I'd been looking for a mouse skeleton (long story) or footprints, but haven't found anything remotely close to proper in that area.
    Finally, this is just awesome. Wouldn't want it, but I absolutely love it:
    In other news, my foot is healing, slowly but surely. Most of the other bruises and scratches are much further along than this. It still hurts when I bump it (yes, I try not to bump it) but looks terrible, worse in person than in the photo. The injury is bad enough, but the old saw about adding insult to it has come true over the past few days; Toby has contacted me again. It seems that he has no recollection whatsoever of the events of last Monday, does not particularly believe my version of them, and "wants another chance." He has no articulated at what he desires to chance again, and I have not asked. I've ignored several of his messages, responded coolly/abruptly to a couple, and directly addressed a few. It culminated (I hope) in a pouty flurry of texts in which he expressed his disappointment at my "coldness" and, in essence, "if that's they way you're going to be, don't even bother contacting me again." Okey doke, thanks, bye.

[title quotation by William James, from The Varieties of Religious Experience]

happiness is being lost in Venice with the woman you love...

    Do you ever look at something that's happened in your life and try to figure out why it happened that way? Try to determine whether it's a discrete incident or whether you—consciously or unconsciously—set in motion a chain of events that brought about the occurrence that you're analyzing? Attempt to deconstruct your choices, to know just where you went wrong?
    Last week, I had an object lesson in 'knowledge'. I got some news that should not, logically, have been news at all. It should have been foreseeable, given the evidence that I'd acquired previously. I should have known. But I didn't know. I didn't see. So when I got the news—via Twitter, of all things - it came as a rude shock. What the hell? When did this happen?
    Somebody I used to know, whom I've loved since before I really knew him, I guess, is in love with someone else.
    He's not waiting for me.
    He has...moved on.
    If it was ever in question for him at all.
    I haven't spent all this time circling the drain, paralyzed with wondering. I haven't waited, literally, for his return. But I have, in a sense, been waiting, all along, for him to come back. For that life (which we never actually had, but to which we had only looked forward) to begin. And it really is never going to happen. Because he really doesn't want it. Because he's got it with someone else, yes, but even more—because he's not in this half-life of waiting, either.
    Can I honestly say that reading his news on the 5th didn't affect my perspective on the 7th? My sense of loneliness and restlessness at the wedding? That it didn't influence my decision-making, my choice to contact Toby, my willingness to see him again, even though it ended so stupidly before?
    How much of my own life am I in control of? How much controls me? How much is completely out of control?
    What is the happiest moment I can imagine? Lost in Venice with the man I used to love, who no longer loves (or thinks of) me? It's time to get out of this.

metaphorrrs

    The wedding was a sort of indoor/outdoor affair, not exactly in but not completely out either, in a sort of alcove. While seated and waiting for the main event, I saw a flash from the corner of my eye. I looked up, and realized that I could see sky; there is a hole--whether by accident or design, I'll not likely know--high in the wall that we faced, above the door, above the 'altar' of flowers on crates, a man's height again above the groom's and officiant's heads.

    One last means of escape? Or a revelation that light shines through even when all seems dark and still? A metaphor for marriage, for commitment, for standing on the precipice of something...and staying? Or leaving? Which one is harder? better? more valid, important, worthy?

    Maybe that hole is just a hole. Something tells me, though, that it was supposed to be more than that for me. With a couple hundred guests around me taking pictures nonstop all evening, the only thing that I photographed was that wall. That hole. Right or wrong, I got a little stuck there.

In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,

where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,

and that sight becomes this art.

[Rumi]

don't look where you fall, but where you slipped

    Wedding last Saturday. The day: cool, cloudy, threatening rain. The outfit: Kohl's sweater (numerous discounts decreased the price ~$36)--in rose red, swingy knee-length skirt (black), strappy black sandals (too cool for them, but what the hell), new ruby necklace, totally adorable hair (thanks, Meg!), and non-matching earrings (including some gorgeous emerald studs). The wedding ceremony: perhaps the most heartfelt and personal I've ever witnessed, and also the shortest. It was lovely, and the entire bridal party (16??) was in and out, ceremony concluded, in probably 5 minutes flat. The reception: also very personal, which was alternately beautiful and heartbreaking. Have you ever had one of those experiences where everything should be just right, but something inside you makes it just wrong enough to be not right? Like if you're in a sad mood when you see the happy movie, it might not seem to be the best movie you've ever seen? That was my experience Saturday night. I wanted to love it, and the circumstances were in place to make it possible, but my heart was heavy and I couldn't do it. I slipped out as dessert was served, got some air, realized that air—peace, alone—was what I needed, and just kept walking until I was home.
    During the best men's speeches, though (which were some of the best I've ever heard, rollicking funny and clearly personal), I'd obeyed one of those independent voices that occupy my mind. Toby (Ullyses' best friend) had texted a couple of weeks ago, out of the blue after four months of silence. I hadn't responded, and my silence was wearing on me—my rudeness, not truly justified by his rudeness (and whatever else it could be called), was wearing on me. In a moment of remorse brought on by all that hale fellow well-met-ness, I texted him. Apologized for having left him hanging, though I also said that it was essentially because I'd been so surprised to hear from him after so long. He wrote back almost immediately, apologizing too for having "bailed" on me and for being rude, too. Said maybe we could get together for a drink sometime....
    And so we did, last night. The rationalization and justification are beside the point. We're both single adults, so, why not? He came over for a drink.
    Ostensibly.
    It took a while to realize that he actually came over (1) to plant seeds of information about Ulysses in my brain, (2) to ask questions about my relationship with Ulysses (whether as fact-checking to take back to U. or just out of curiosity, I don't know), (3) to get really, really drunk on my alcohol, and (4) because he thought that "getting together for a drink" implied offer and acceptance of an implied contract of sexual favors.
    He had limited success with #1. He failed miserably at #2, although I doubt that he realized how miserably because he succeeded beyond my realization with #3--he was completely wasted before long. Not surprising, given that he'd had a few before he came over. The guy drinks a lot. Therefore, when he determined that it was time to attempt #4, there was trouble. He's not a terribly big person, just a couple of inches taller than me, maybe outweighing me by 50 lb., but he's both more fit and he was extremely drunk. So there was no "reasoning with him," only outwitting him. That was...new. For me. Not outwitting, but needing to. That's literally never happened to me before.
    He tried to push me into something that I wasn't going to do, so I pushed him away, and he nearly fell into my living room windows. Naturally, I tried to prevent that, and when he started to fall in the opposite direction, he landed with all his weight on his heel--on the top of my left foot. I don't think it's broken, but it's bruised and swollen and looks wretched and feels pretty bad. When I woke up this morning and realized that it felt tender, and saw the bruise, I wished I could have gone back in time and let him fall out the Goddamned window.
    So. I got far too little sleep last night. I woke up this morning pretty badly hungover. I slept with my contacts in. When I wrote this morning that "people generally keep suckin' if they used to suck so expecting any changes in that department is just stoopid," I meant that Toby was a jerk before, so deluding myself into thinking he was anything but a jerk...not smart. My apartment was trashed, with furniture moved all over, things tipped and a couple of things bent or broken, pictures on the walls hanging crooked, and the bathroom a complete mess.
    And when I chose the Don Marquis quote ("I drink only to make my friends seem interesting")--wow, I didn't mean my real friends. If I ever need to drink, especially to that extent, I hope someone cares about me enough to stand between me and my bottle and help me clean up my life.
    (Despite my strong opinions on the subject, the bully's on his own.)

[title quotation is an African proverb]

I drink only to make my friends seem interesting

This is one of my rare early-morning posts, just popping in to say:

• I got far too little sleep last night,
• I'm a little (OK, a LOT) hungover,
• I apparently slept with my contacts in, which is probably better than the alternative since God only knows where they'd have ended up had I taken them out,
• the people who suck generally keep suckin' if they used to suck so expecting any changes in that department is just stoopid,
• my apartment looks like something the cat...was dragged...through?,
• it's 77° up here, so I guess it's finally spring, and
• doing laundry first thing in the morning is utterly vile.

[title quotation by Don Marquis]

the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool

1. Looking back at it now, how were your holidays and your time on New Year's Eve?
   Thanksgiving was by turns wonderfully comfortable and pointlessly painful; that's not going to happen again. Christmas was the same as ever ("as ever" being the version we've been doing since the end of my marriage, anyway)—low-key to the point of boring and almost completely devoid of actual holiday meaning. I spent some time with family and friends, which is always good, and bought a car. New Years was the best of the bunch: I got pretty drunk and hung out with the Cat-Beasts, watching dreadful local television, yammering and laughing for hours, and we all slept in relatively late for that crew. I had a good time.
2. Do you have any unusual collections?
   sure do. Offhand, I'll mention: plastic-coated paperclips and business cards (to use as bookmarks).
3. If you could train a machine to do one thing for you whenever you wanted, what would you have it do?
   answer the following question: "So what brought you to [this state]?"
4. What is one thing that makes you cry?
   I'm beginning to wonder if I've forgotten how; it's been a while. Probably tempting fate with that, hmm?
5. What do you love to do on the weekend?
   sleep 'til I wake up, read, and follow no one else's schedule. There was NONE of that this weekend.
6. Do you and your family get along?
   yes, pretty much, with the exception of the exception.
7. Who do you normally turn to when you need to complain about something?
   Fluffy, or The Cat, or my journal
8. What is the last thing you ordered on-line?
   downloaded a song from iTunes yesterday. In a more physical sense, a couple of weeks ago I bought a necklace to wear to a wedding.
9. Have you ever gotten kicked out somewhere? If yes, do tell.  sure. There was a bar called "[redacted] Pub" from which I was removed several times for failure to produce legal identification...only to return later via the other door (it was situated on a corner and had entries on both sides, which was either sneaky-smart or just damned stupid). I would rarely employ a pathetic disguise of some sort (e.g. trading jackets with a friend or altering my hairstyle) but typically just walked around the block and came right back in.
   I was asked to leave my college library on one memorable occasion, too, in the company of a young man who is now a mid-level functionary in the St. P government. Good times....

[quiz borrowed from the standard donor, who got it here; title quotation by William Shakespeare, from As You Like It]

flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary humanity

my Easter tulips[title quotation by John Ruskin; thanks again, Fluffy]

hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another

The more I try to tell myself to "be good" or "behave", the harder it is to do anything at all that's not outrageous or dangerous. I wonder if, like prophylactic caffeine to keep those headaches at bay, I've become inured to a certain basic level of disarray and acting up. If I have perhaps, moved to the swamp.

[title quotation by Homer]