Some of my favourite people just had birthdays, and the only place I acknowledged them was in my head. For shame, for shame! You all deserve celebrity status, celebration, merriment and rollicking nudity!
If you see any of these people, please give them a SMOOOCH:
Feb 23: abbacat - La Revolution Surrealiste
Feb 25: imperfectly - imperfectly
Feb 26: insecuritiesinc - Kip!
Feb 29: ifjuly - d'you lie (Missing you, dear)
Mar 1: allyn - Allyn
Mar 1: rhiannonstone - There Is Naked Flute Girl!
Mar 3: mtffm - The Anti-Climb Max
Mar 3: starlazdaze - Pale Orchid
Mar 5: axiem - Axiem Terre-jen
Mar 6: teferi - Adam Glasgall
Happy (for-the-most-part-belated) Birthdays, my dear and wonderful friends!
My world would be less rich without you, and I am thankful for the blessing of your presence.
Gone with the Gin (don't blame me for the title)
So, the murder mystery is going to be veeeeeeery interesting, indeed. I told the Spartan and the Athenian* each of the other's presence shortly before rehearsal. Neither was happy.
Turns out, their characters are married. And the biggest scene in the whole thing is their over-the-top sloppy, smoochy kiss.
By the end of rehearsal, all any of us could do was laugh at the absurdity of it all. At least it's comforting to know that the universe is not singling me out. Though I do seem to be the only one in on the joke who is not directly involved.
Oh, and speaking of singling, I sing in this thing. Not only do I sing, but I'm apparently a singer. A chan-too-see; a howah-toined-flappah with a new yawk accent anna heart o' gold. This should be fun. Or at least funny. If I'm lucky.
It's definitely sweeps week. My writers are busier than ever. I am alternately amused and afeared.
I will be off-book (and learn to sing) by Saturday.
* Two warring factions who would probably rather eat dirt than work with each other. Correction: two warring factions who would each rather see the other eat dirt than work with each other. Correction: just two people what don't likes each other. I have no idea why I threw the dirt in. I don't even have the dirt.
these cryptic crosswords do not describe a tangent (oh, but aren't I the clever one)
Ignore yesterday's love quotes. I should have been listening to what's love got to do with it*, anyway.
I can be a conversational butterfly, dripping wit and charm, as long as the subject matter is light. But when conversation turns to the serious, I either think too slowly or too quickly to be interactive. I ruminate and I process. Even when I have something to say, it often takes too long to slog through all my mental footnotes and tangents in order to present a coherent thought. I can't possibly speak as fast as I think. And so I usually do not speak at all**. It can be frustrating for the other party, I'm sure. It's certainly frustrating for me.
Sometimes I just surrender to the universe. Most of the time, really... though I know that doing so at the cost of my own integrity is too high of a price.
Deep down, I think we all want to be loved for all our foibles and flaws. And adoration is not nearly as throwaroundable as like, even reallylike, though I was adored once, too.
For the first time in several days, I slept through the night without waking up to dreams of a certain woman. I'm not sure why, but I'm thankful nonetheless.
See? Not a coherent thought in the lot. There is a throughline, but I'm not sharing.
I am a mean, mean, mean, mean woman. I was born that way. Can't help it.
* Everything. But that's neither here nor there.
** My geekier friends might better understand it this way-- my data is kept in ram, my emotions in cab files on a defragging disk in a remote location. I'm lucky if I remember the password.
My Church is not in Charlotte; she can keep her spleen
I desperately need to get away to the woods, my cathedral of towering birches and oak. I need to smell the wet earth and rotting foliage, chat with the birds and the rodents and experience once again the terrible cycle of death and rebirth. I need to rediscover my center, by seeing myself as an infinitesimal part of a much larger whole. I need to be at once humbled and uplifted by nature.
Need, need, need. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow I'll grab my boots, go straight from work, trudge through the stubborn snow and visit my marsh. I don't care if I have other pressing needs to attend to. My psyche requires the release.
Maybe I'll run home and grab my coat, camera and boots at lunch today, if the day doesn't get much darker.
As I wrote that, the universe (right on schedule once again), evidently decided it should snow.
I can take a hint. But I have been too long without this, my solitary communion. Tomorrow it shall be.