| my cat |
[Feb. 2nd, 2009|11:30 pm] |
I can tell when my cat is dreaming. His nose and paws and ears and tightly closed eyes start twitching, and then his little nose starts moving erratically, as if smelling some phantom scent. Some times I worry that he's scared, because he hyperventilates in his sleep, but what nightmares would a kitten have?
When I move and wake him up, he just stretches out impossibly long like nothing happened. |
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| I just broke my favorite christmas present. |
[Dec. 25th, 2008|04:41 pm] |
The holidays are a set up for disappointment.
I guess it wasn't so bad. I always jump in with too much of a positive attitude though; perhaps this is my down fall.
It broke just like the necklace Jeff gave me, the only one he gave me that I liked. The piece of glass slid right off the string when I picked it up, thinking it was still clasped. I knew it was going to fall before it did, but not soon enough before. My hands reacted even slower than last time. It hit the floor and shattered.
Crying changes when you hit adulthood. When you're a child, you cry, and often times you cry to someone. When you're a child you still expect someone to fix it. To buy another necklace, to hide the fallen petals in a pocket, to make everything right.
When I cried it wasn't just for the necklace, which I am certain no one can mend. It is for all the things no one can fix, all of the things I can't really cry to someone about.
I never get what I want for Christmas. |
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| Christmas Part II |
[Dec. 25th, 2008|01:43 pm] |
The Turkey has been in the oven for at least an hour and there is no smell in the kitchen. It was a hassle getting the turkey in the over to begin with. No one was aware of how big the turkey was until it was sized up in line with all of the family's pots. It was cleaned and stuffed into the very biggest casserole dish in which is fit quite snugly like a tall, heavy person in the coach compartment of a plane trying desperately to stretch out his legs. He fails miserably, and as he gets up to walk to the bathroom, he hits his head on the over head compartment. That is their over ripened turkey in the ill fitting pot.
The time goes on and there is still not smell. Grandma starts fussing with things in the kitchen when all of a sudden she releases a sound of surprise and alarm. Proclamations are made. Questions are asked. The fussing increases exponentially. The oven is not on. The turkey has not been cooking for the last hour and a half. Dinner can not possibly proceed at the estimated time. Everyone gets instantly more hungry. Things are rectified; all is set on the proper course, if only a little late.
Time progresses. Smells emerge, though not good smells. The family gathers once more around the oven full of wonder and amazement. The granddaughter shyly cracks the door to the oven. Smoke billows to the ceiling and lingers up there like a thick fog. Cries of astonishment and desolation ring throughout the house. Oxygen enters the oven and the overflowing grease from the too small pan is ignited on the electric coils. |
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| Christmas Part I |
[Dec. 25th, 2008|01:35 pm] |
We're getting everything set for Christmas Eve dinner.
"Ruth, do you want a hot dog?" My grandma asks as she gets the processed meat out of the fridge to make a snack to tie us over till dinner.
"No thanks, Grandma. I only eat one hot dog a year and I already had this years." I say slightly in disgust as my grandpa and brother mutter about something in the background creating white noise to envelope out conversation.
"But you haven't ate anything all day! You never eat!"
"I had that wrap just an hour ago!"
"That's not food it doesn't even involve bread."
"No thanks, Grandma" I leave the kitchen; I can't find my phone. It is important to keep you phone near you at all times during the holidays. My cell phone is my life line to sanity.
"It's Jewish hot dogs!" She yells after me.
"Kosher hot dogs are still hot dogs, Grandma!" |
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| goodbye seniors |
[Dec. 22nd, 2008|12:35 pm] |
There is an image of some distant friend's car painted for her last day of high school. "Goodbye Seniors" the washable paint proclaims. This image means nothing to me. I was not there that day. I did not attend this girl's graduation party; she is on the fringes of my social networking. Yet the image intrigues me.
I don't remember my last day of school. I can't remember if I got a ride with Dan or walked in the warm weather of the first week of June. Likely the grass would have been wet from dew and rain, keynotes of the season. Somewhere along the line I entrusted my memories with the wrong people, because they are gone now.
I know I did not ask for my mom's car, even though I know the story of her borrowing her dad's car on this day in her life. I know that she painted his volkswagen like a dog- or maybe a frog, defiantly a cute animal with eyes. I know that she had to pick up my grandpa from work after school that day, and his work buddies teased him long enough that it was remembered. My mom did this american, youth, rite of passage, thing. I did not.
I can remember other senior's last days of school. I can remember my freshman year, like yesterday. I remember the unavoidable sadness that over took me when some anchorman-faced jock from the senior class threw his papers up into the air of the hallway to the parking lot. The air was filled with this confetti of liberation, but I could not be happy for the people whose names I would soon forget. The first group of people I looked up to, loved, was gone, and this was going to happen to me again and again.
On my last day of school there must have been a lot of loitering. The last day of any class always involves this. Maybe pictures were taken in classes. Girls in the same t-shirts representing this or that lined up with smiling faces with their teacher as some junior snapped the moment into immortality. I can remember being that junior in the senior classes. I can remember being excluded from these photos, but I can't remember being a part of them.
When the class president (was it Lana?) came on the loud speaker a few minutes before school was meant to end, he or she would have mentioned how much everyone at the school had meant so much. He or she would have thanked everyone, collectively, so as not to forget anyone. And then our class song would have played as we left for the last time.
"There are places I remember..."
Girls probably cried, likely not myself. We would have walked slower, with purpose, as we set off into the wide open abyss of our futures. People would have consoled themselves saying that we still had graduation and the summer, but it was over- it was all over.
"...In my life, I love you more" |
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| now all that's left, are pictures on the wall, memories are stories that are told. |
[Dec. 20th, 2008|12:12 am] |
It's difficult to say...
"Goodnight, Jon. You know you should sleep, if you're going to drive tomorrow."
"I'm not going to drive till at least south Ohio"
"Jon, Dad may need you to drive; he's getting older" What I mean is dad is getting older faster than he should. One day my dad will start forgetting things, like his father did. I've long tried to decide if Dad doesn't remember my friend's names because he never cared to, or if it is because he really can't. I wont remember his memories for him; I don't know him well enough to know them all. "Anyway, you should pack."
"I'll be fine." He says this unblinkingly. He does not look up from the computer screen. My brother's fingers click effortlessly the five keys necessary to make his character do things. What these things are and why they are so transfixing, I am unaware of.
"Well have a good trip" I ease out of the room. I'm in the door way. From there I can't see him, and he can't see me.
"Yeah."
"Be safe."
"Yeah."
"Get some sleep eventually."
"I will."
I'm back at the computer with my arms around him from behind him. "I love you Jon-Jon."
"I love you, too."
"Goodnight."
I don't know why I'm sad. |
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| I'm not going to lie, I was unprepared for my feelings. |
[Oct. 25th, 2008|02:32 am] |
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I wasn't ready to be at your house, knowing that your parents weren't. It was so weird, the subtle differences, and then, even weirder, the huge lack of change at all. It would have seemed normal if there were cataclysmic changes from what I remember, but there are not. So very little has changed. I expected to see them around every corner, like a haunting. |
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| romantic love |
[Oct. 2nd, 2008|05:50 pm] |
What drives us to love each other; it is so strange an ambition. It is not self seeking and rarely comes with gain.
Romantic love is so weird. We are prisoners to it, or so say the pop songs. But really who chooses where cupids arrow goes? Surely if we had any control we would choose more wisely, yet affection is fast forming and so powerfully ardent it takes us out of ourselves. What is the difference between Roselyn and Juliet, Paris and Romeo, but quick and fickle fate? We never choose the easiest or most logical choice in an object of affection. I can't think of ever admiring a person with out obstacle between us.
Every pair of lovers is star crossed.
...
I had to tell someone that I just wasn't that into him recently. Isn't that hard? Especially when you don't have a good reason. When there is a huge intersect in a shared venn diagram of interests and temperaments are aligned. Yet relationships need more than that, and the illusive chemistry or attraction is hard to come by. It worries me, where this comes from. One day, after I have found someone, I may lose it and have no idea where to find it again. |
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| I'm drinking tea. |
[Oct. 2nd, 2008|05:30 pm] |
Steam slowly wafts off its mug in my cold room that probably wont be heated till late october, such is the life of a renter. Fall has swept into life here on campus with gray skies, crisp breezes, and colored leaves. This season is wonderful. The cool air hasn't yet penetrated into the core of my being, so I can enjoy the weather still with out worrying about shivering to death. I've had a cold, but it hasn't been so bad. The semester so far has been great. I've read outside and drank too much coffee. Although I'm not taking enough classes right now, I like the two I have. Most wonderful of all, I have met lots of people so far and have gotten closer to many old friends.
"fall is easy to love because she is beautiful"
This season can be full of all kinds of melancholy, but I'm trying to stay positive. If anything fall is a time of settling. Settling in to a new way of life, in for the winter. At schools students settle into their life with new friends, and patterns formed in the fall can solidify like drying concrete.
But in other news, I've been spending way more time with my family and at home, which is very nice. I like getting to be home, spend time with my grandparents, talk with my mom, and watch my brother be late for things. I miss Trenton, sometimes. Life is slower there. Color seems warmer there, far away from my city apartment in a grey building. |
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| I mean I am disappointed |
[Sep. 17th, 2008|01:28 am] |
but really I'm not surprised.
In other news...
I broke both of my wrists. It sucks to be me, so much more than a Avenue Q song. |
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