so lots has happened, and yet i've still done nothing.


christmas eve with the cousins was cuteness and awkward and disgusting baby pangs at dinosaur hide and seek the almost 2 dominic. creepy.

then christmas day was tom's family birthday. rocky balboa and junk food. thst feel good kind of grossness.

then boxing day laziness with jennie (nicolas cage and crazy bread. ooh baby. american glory.), a visit from sonja, and one from anika and much festive preparations because kate and jimmy got home at last.

then today was christmas. highly festive and fun. dad subjected us to more kareoke and i introduced christmas crackers - the musical kind. i played sign language conductor. woohoo.

the presents were a bit on the random side, but still some jems. mom's gifting theory is a bit beyond me at this point, but what can you do? it's the season of giving and much happiness was exchanged, what else matters? we're all here. there is a plethora of indulgences, and only a couple of days until i am back home, an ocean away where i'll misremember and miss all of it all over again.

so happy grady christmas world. carpe diem.

Hello world.

Let's see if I have any news.

Well, after whirlwind leaving of home (before any of the festivities really even got underway), I came back and lost like 3 days to sleep and readjusting to the familial weirdness.

Then Tom and I went to Columbus for his 21st, where we dressed in three piece suits and drank martinis (siberian huskies thankyouverymuch) at the shady Little Bar and spent the next two days on the couch watching a voyager marathon interspliced with scrubs on dvd. a little pot, a lot of pizza, and we were back home a couple days later all the better for it. Well he wasn't, but then his ambition was a drink an hour for the 24 hours of his birthday. Shocker.

Then I had a huge icky day at the doctor with prodding and poking and a lot of "hmmm" because there is nothing wrong with me. at all. except the whole bleeding fainting unending pain thing. that is unexplained and hopefully new hormones will sort me out. and get this - the miracle feminine regulator is called Portia. I find that highly amusing, but then I am a nerd.

(addendum) Oh, and totally cool weird thing: I had to have an ultrasound - but no jelly on the belly, no crazy camera thing I always thought looked like a commerical address stamp - no, it was a newfangled internal ultrasound - which was essentially a sleek industrial dildo with sensors inside. Not only that, she had me insert it myself for comforts sake. Talk about awkward.

And then the annual cry and fight fest with mom this morning and now am christmas crafty goodness.

oh, and I totally got the job. I now run the biggest children's book festival in the world. how fucking amazing. merry christmas to me!

Cruella

i know i should write about how i am home.

with the family and the cousins and the christmas joy. how i hate the noise and the bright. how i miss him already.

but at the moment i am shocked the psycho ex-flatmate actually bothered to remove me as a friend on facebook. she wrote me a letter once. for "closure". to say i am the worst person she's ever known.

she really does hate me. and it's such a shame she wastes here life on that kind of thing. who has time for that?

nothin much

I just keep thinking I should say something.

Now we have the internet back I keep logging in and thinking "I should update the journal" only to find I have nothing to say. No wisdom to impart. No tales of insanity with which to amuse. Or maybe I do, I just can't think of any right now.

(Or perhaps more likely, I think back on my week and mostly I go to work, hang out and do stupid things with Liam, we go to bed, i get up and do it again. It's completely boring and I don't want anyone to know how lame I have become.)

Generally I check up a couple of other people, and then re-read my last entry. I think it's supposed to inspire me by seeing how long ago I wrote last and remind me of something terribly interesting that happened since. But mostly it's just boring and slighly sadistic.

So sorry.

Here, I'll give you some at least halfway amusing things
- there are pigmy deer in the forests of argentina who are small as house cats and the males horns are like chopsticks
- there are trees in the tiga over 5000 years old. Older than Jesus. Older than the rockies. Older than the pyramids. Older than pretty much anything on the planet. I bet they have thrilling conversations in the frozen wasteland.
- don't you think michael palin is a little bit sexy in a dorky old man kind of way?
- i am wearing scary fuzzy electric blue socks my grandmother sent me for my birthday. i hate socks. (well, i hate wearing them, as apparell goes they can be quite cute. but not these things. no tasteful ann taylor argyle here. no dainty AE flower prints. these are great beastly things dreamt up in a cotton swathed coke dream.) but it's fucking freezing so i have decided keeping all my toes in tact is worth looking like cookie monster from the calf down.

I am, for once you may say in recent memory, in a good mood.
.
yes, it's 8pm and i am still at work. yes i think i am allergic to potatoes. yes i didnt sleep last night at all and havent even started christmas shopping.
.
but i just spent a couple hours ranting about childhood literacy and influential fiction, which always gets my engines revved.
.
plus for some reason i feel okay. not because of eyeliner or sunshine or my salary.
.
i just do.
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and i am going to revel in it. (and by revel in it you know i mean go have sex)


ps - i really will change this hideous layout. i promise. i think i need an online makeover. my profiles are dull, this thing is a blight on blogging everywhere (if such a thing can exist). perhaps it's like a weirdo dorian grey thing. or maybe the reverse. i'm not sure. but i know there is some philosophical literary illusion to be had here. i'll get back to you on that one.

i thought i could

i just keep thinking things should be perfect.

here i am on a sunny blustery morning sitting in my favourite turquoise nightgown on my boyfriends bed. He's feverishly writing an essay due friday with his curly hair still damp from the shower. It's my day off. I have toast with honey in my hand and two weeks til I go home for Christmas.

And I am supposed to be working on a serious job application. One I feel is way out of my league, but have been recommended for by people at the Book Trust and other influential and important artsy places. I am flattered they think I am capable of running the book festival, but it scares the shit out of me even if I didn't hate the self aggrandizing sycophantic balance of the job hunt proper to begin with.
.
So here I am, in what seems like the best of all possible worlds and am paralyzed by doubt and dread. I just have to keep telling myself it'll get better. But sometimes I don't feel like the little engine that could anymore.