So, let's be honest. Christmas with the pseudo-in-laws is hard. Cheerful, joyous, full of generosity and warm feelings of seasonal joy. But also too much everything and not enough sleep (who gets up at 6 every morning during vacation? who?!). Plus serious, black, homesickness.
But in the mess, somehow Liam and I found each other. Being away from home, where we were held and fed and looked after, we spent our spare minutes and long country drives dreaming of better. Making plans. Believing in a future, and that we could build a life we wanted. It was all so hopeful. And together. It felt so real, so possible.
And literally, the second we got home the rest of the world came crashing down and we were fighting within minutes. Money and deadlines and pressures we had actually almost forgotten in the fuzzy, holiday of make believe.
We are trying so hard. So hard to remember. To keep believing. To keep holding onto the fact that we will get out - leave this godforsaken city, with choices ahead of us, a future together.
But if I'm honest (and let's pretend I'm good at that for a minute), I'm terrified too. I don't want this life. I know we will find something. But walking away from the only life I've ever had that wasn't dependent on my parents - the only job I've held for more than a few months because I really believed in it (though my current passion is questionable), leaving the only city I know inside and out, have built a home in.
It's fucking scary. I know in someways Liam wanting to leave tomorrow is because it's a brave confession of how hollow this life is. But it also feels like running away. And I don't have anywhere to run. I'm not sure I want to run directionless, I'd rather decide, and have something to look forward to.
I will build up the courage to walk away - to start over again, to try omething new. But I have no idea what I would do, where we would go. And part of me isn't ready to jump ship.
It's weird we want exactly the same thing. But somehow the timeline feels all screwed up. I know we're looking for the same life, but maybe the getting there is going to be hard since now, then and inbetween is all a bit hazy.
I don't even know what I'm saying. I think it stung when he asked if I was serious about leaving. Because I am. But I didn't know we meant today. I thought we'd have a plan first. And I guess being scared is making me stall.
Fucking hell being a grown up is hard.
31 December 2008
15 December 2008
Christmas wish.
Even after all these years, I still have unflagging yearning for Christmas to be special.
And it pretty much always is, even if it's not the kind on a Hallmark card.
It's never the same twice, despite my siblings attempts to instil rituals, but it's always a day to share something.
I can only hope 5,000 miles from my family I can still feel loved and share some joy with the people I do spend the day with.
I told Liam the other night that I wanted to gain two families, not feel like I was having to spend less and less time with my own. I so want it to come true.
And it pretty much always is, even if it's not the kind on a Hallmark card.
It's never the same twice, despite my siblings attempts to instil rituals, but it's always a day to share something.
I can only hope 5,000 miles from my family I can still feel loved and share some joy with the people I do spend the day with.
I told Liam the other night that I wanted to gain two families, not feel like I was having to spend less and less time with my own. I so want it to come true.
09 December 2008
There Will Be Nights Like These
I first heard this poem read by the author in a strange Australian poetry house. I have read it a dozen times since, and while I do not generally like long winded quoting and I generally don't cut and paste, I want to share it with you.
There will be nights like these
when all you hear
is the asynchrony of our mouths -
the words we do not say
and the questions we do not ask hanging
in the cold aid above our heads
or lining the sill, growing damp.
There will be nights like these
when all you feel
is the anonimity of our skin,
the distance gathered in like
tangled sheets
which the other has never known
and I will lay curled like a fist,
every part of me twisted away
from your perfect mouth yes
there will be nights like these.
But there will be others -
my fingers uncurling and tracing your face
the white flag unfurled and you bracing
the dark with your sweet thieving hands
moving dog-sly and fox-quick and
the blockade in me breaks as if fashioned
of matchsticks stuck with grief so used up that
it crumbles when breathed on
and you tread underfoot
all the heart-rent and long-gone
as I lay down my weapons
you call the parade through
and I'm lifted and lost
at the surge and the sight of you
I'm lifted and lost to
our bodies so close
that the first pale blade of light
slipped under the blind
finds no purchase to separate
your limbs from mine on my word
we will wake like that.
Stay with me.
There Will Be Nights Like These
by Josephine Rowe.
You can find her, and this poem, here http://www.cherryfoxmantle.com/#.
There will be nights like these
when all you hear
is the asynchrony of our mouths -
the words we do not say
and the questions we do not ask hanging
in the cold aid above our heads
or lining the sill, growing damp.
There will be nights like these
when all you feel
is the anonimity of our skin,
the distance gathered in like
tangled sheets
which the other has never known
and I will lay curled like a fist,
every part of me twisted away
from your perfect mouth yes
there will be nights like these.
But there will be others -
my fingers uncurling and tracing your face
the white flag unfurled and you bracing
the dark with your sweet thieving hands
moving dog-sly and fox-quick and
the blockade in me breaks as if fashioned
of matchsticks stuck with grief so used up that
it crumbles when breathed on
and you tread underfoot
all the heart-rent and long-gone
as I lay down my weapons
you call the parade through
and I'm lifted and lost
at the surge and the sight of you
I'm lifted and lost to
our bodies so close
that the first pale blade of light
slipped under the blind
finds no purchase to separate
your limbs from mine on my word
we will wake like that.
Stay with me.
There Will Be Nights Like These
by Josephine Rowe.
You can find her, and this poem, here http://www.cherryfoxmantle.com/#.
08 December 2008
it's not that bad.
the oven is broken, the heater doesn't work, the sink leaks and spouts tank water - like on planes. you can't drink it. it's disgusting. and (gasp) dominoes won't deliver here.
but the sun streams in over the Pentlands. the cathedral bells chime from the top of the road. the front windows are floor to ceiling and show a better world, full of little old ladies and families playing soccer in the communal garden. it's a lifetime away (and 15 minute walk) from the muggers and druggies of my old neighborhood.
it could so be worse.
the oven is broken, the heater doesn't work, the sink leaks and spouts tank water - like on planes. you can't drink it. it's disgusting. and (gasp) dominoes won't deliver here.
but the sun streams in over the Pentlands. the cathedral bells chime from the top of the road. the front windows are floor to ceiling and show a better world, full of little old ladies and families playing soccer in the communal garden. it's a lifetime away (and 15 minute walk) from the muggers and druggies of my old neighborhood.
it could so be worse.
05 December 2008
tomorrow we are moving.
after the busiest 6 months of my life, we now have the added complication of boxes and internet providers and mail forwarding and the joys of heavy lifting.
i am nervous. and scared.
mostly because i am unable to take time off work, so I am not there. I am not packing. I am not the one calling the gas company. I feel useless and numb and it all seems so unreal without the methodical cathardic process of putting your old life away to unpack the new one later.
also, I feel guilty Liam is trying to carry this burden alone. Managing the little things can take a lifetime.
Plus, his brother is staying with us. To help with the move. But instead of coming for the weekend of the move to lift boxes and then campout in the new place, for unforseeable circumstances it has become a week of tripping over him in the packing process and a spare pair of hands to disassemble the shelving. A nice guy, and such a help. But the stress of packing and moving makes us shit hosts. It's all gone a bit pear-shaped.
Anyway. I should be excited. A huge, quiet new place in a nice neighborhood. But honestly, I am just counting the minutes until my world feels normal again. Until my life is my own.
after the busiest 6 months of my life, we now have the added complication of boxes and internet providers and mail forwarding and the joys of heavy lifting.
i am nervous. and scared.
mostly because i am unable to take time off work, so I am not there. I am not packing. I am not the one calling the gas company. I feel useless and numb and it all seems so unreal without the methodical cathardic process of putting your old life away to unpack the new one later.
also, I feel guilty Liam is trying to carry this burden alone. Managing the little things can take a lifetime.
Plus, his brother is staying with us. To help with the move. But instead of coming for the weekend of the move to lift boxes and then campout in the new place, for unforseeable circumstances it has become a week of tripping over him in the packing process and a spare pair of hands to disassemble the shelving. A nice guy, and such a help. But the stress of packing and moving makes us shit hosts. It's all gone a bit pear-shaped.
Anyway. I should be excited. A huge, quiet new place in a nice neighborhood. But honestly, I am just counting the minutes until my world feels normal again. Until my life is my own.
19 November 2008
back again.
I have been home for 3 days. 3 whole days of my own bed, my own Liam, my own life.
After a month on the road and on three different continents, it was all I hoped for. Counting the minutes til I could call home - the hours til I boarded the next plane. Here and now anchored me when the world turned upside down and I went from high to high on the press junket, keeping the tears for the non descript hotel bed after.
And it was awesome. It was. I met Neil Gaiman at a party in a crypt. I dipped my toes in the Tasmanian Sea. I went to the gay wedding in a castle of two people I love. I danced at one of my best friend's weddings, sick as a dog but in a fucking killer Rocketeer dress. I witnessed my first interesting and not entirely mediocre poetry slam and saw Ned Kelly's actual armour.
I went and did and saw and learned. It was inspiring, amazing, exciting and intoxicating. And the whole time I just secretly wanted to come home.
So here I am. Home. Safe. Done. And now I sadly have to face the rest of my life. And it's not the rainbows and lollipops one can squint and pretend with from across the world.
It's debt. Massive debt. It's mice. And rent. It's moving complications and Liam's unemployment. It's dirty socks and soggy towels.
If I'm honest, it's just aweful.
at least it's real. I've spent a month touring about, laughing politely and drinking too much champagne. with no deadlines, no curfews, no expectations. but the whole time I yearned for solid, honest to goodness real. for truth.
the problem is the real world is dirty and hard and gray and wet and sad. and cold. so cold. scotland is a sad place full of sad people, and I am just another schmuck counting the days until I get out again.
We hate our lives. I don't like my job. We are hugely in debt and in a place we don't want to be anymore. And we can fix it. We can. But it'll take time and energy, which I unashamedly and ludicrously object to.
I think mostly I just wanted the world to pause with me - and to give me two inches of breathing room before dumping credit cards and dead house plants on my happy reunion and homecoming. but the thing with the real world is, you can't just make it up. it's already happening.
After a month on the road and on three different continents, it was all I hoped for. Counting the minutes til I could call home - the hours til I boarded the next plane. Here and now anchored me when the world turned upside down and I went from high to high on the press junket, keeping the tears for the non descript hotel bed after.
And it was awesome. It was. I met Neil Gaiman at a party in a crypt. I dipped my toes in the Tasmanian Sea. I went to the gay wedding in a castle of two people I love. I danced at one of my best friend's weddings, sick as a dog but in a fucking killer Rocketeer dress. I witnessed my first interesting and not entirely mediocre poetry slam and saw Ned Kelly's actual armour.
I went and did and saw and learned. It was inspiring, amazing, exciting and intoxicating. And the whole time I just secretly wanted to come home.
So here I am. Home. Safe. Done. And now I sadly have to face the rest of my life. And it's not the rainbows and lollipops one can squint and pretend with from across the world.
It's debt. Massive debt. It's mice. And rent. It's moving complications and Liam's unemployment. It's dirty socks and soggy towels.
If I'm honest, it's just aweful.
at least it's real. I've spent a month touring about, laughing politely and drinking too much champagne. with no deadlines, no curfews, no expectations. but the whole time I yearned for solid, honest to goodness real. for truth.
the problem is the real world is dirty and hard and gray and wet and sad. and cold. so cold. scotland is a sad place full of sad people, and I am just another schmuck counting the days until I get out again.
We hate our lives. I don't like my job. We are hugely in debt and in a place we don't want to be anymore. And we can fix it. We can. But it'll take time and energy, which I unashamedly and ludicrously object to.
I think mostly I just wanted the world to pause with me - and to give me two inches of breathing room before dumping credit cards and dead house plants on my happy reunion and homecoming. but the thing with the real world is, you can't just make it up. it's already happening.
23 October 2008
I am in my one bedroom stereotypical corporate downtown flat. Everything is black and white with chrome and glass accents. The mirrors are 10x the size of the tv.
It is situated in the west end of SoHo. On Old Compton Street if you know it, a funny place where worlds colide. It's sort of the borderline of many of London's defining neighborhoods. It's the north edge of theatreland. It's the eastern edge of bohemian political students in coffee shops, with bookstores on every corner, plus it's a throughway of the hard core gay clubbing and seedy underbelly of strip clubs and rooms by the hour venues. Plus, across Shaftsbury Avenue lie the paper lanterns of Chinatown.
It's incredibly central, and yet quite tucked away behind a little family italian place that makes fancy wedding type cakes and a posh bar with 10 pound cocktails.
it's nice. but also odd. being away from home for so long, and yet still somehow not so different. If I was here on vacation it's be some urban wonderland, but it's still business meetings and receptions. I finally got an oyster card (a top up card for the tube) and my AtoZ is so dogeared I practically look like a local buying milk and biscuits for when I am so lazy I have meetings at my dining table instead of braving the tottenham court road tube station.
it's a funny thing London, for the first few visits it's terrifying and huge and hollow. And then after a while you realise London doesnt give fuck, and you'll never know everywhere - so you just put your head down and shuffle along like all the other commuters.
It is situated in the west end of SoHo. On Old Compton Street if you know it, a funny place where worlds colide. It's sort of the borderline of many of London's defining neighborhoods. It's the north edge of theatreland. It's the eastern edge of bohemian political students in coffee shops, with bookstores on every corner, plus it's a throughway of the hard core gay clubbing and seedy underbelly of strip clubs and rooms by the hour venues. Plus, across Shaftsbury Avenue lie the paper lanterns of Chinatown.
It's incredibly central, and yet quite tucked away behind a little family italian place that makes fancy wedding type cakes and a posh bar with 10 pound cocktails.
it's nice. but also odd. being away from home for so long, and yet still somehow not so different. If I was here on vacation it's be some urban wonderland, but it's still business meetings and receptions. I finally got an oyster card (a top up card for the tube) and my AtoZ is so dogeared I practically look like a local buying milk and biscuits for when I am so lazy I have meetings at my dining table instead of braving the tottenham court road tube station.
it's a funny thing London, for the first few visits it's terrifying and huge and hollow. And then after a while you realise London doesnt give fuck, and you'll never know everywhere - so you just put your head down and shuffle along like all the other commuters.
16 October 2008
some stuff I did once
It's been forever. There is really far too much to even attempt to catalogue right now, but I'm going to try just because I use lists like other people do yoga.
- It's fall. It's gray and wet the vast majority of everyday. My bones are cold. My soul is cold and Liam and I came to the realisation we don't want ot live here anymore. We are moving to America. Christmas 2009 we hope.
- My sister got married. Seperate from the wedding, the glitz, the family, the celebrations, it was also a hugely emotional thing. It was a momentous occasion in my life, even if I wasn't the one to say I do, and my brain is still toying with it. The fact that I smiled more than I ever have, belted my guts out more than I thought I could, danced like a loon in front of strangers, took shots traight from the bottle with some columbians (now family) and still hid in the bathroom to cry unexpected Elinor tears during their first dance kind of sums up my day.
- The wedding and the ensuing family reunion was a wonderful blast that was perfect and lovely and an odd combination of not nearly enough of anyone and too much birthday.
- And I so badly want to come home for Christmas and I just don't think I'll have the money. The first time I've really been too poor for something and it's ironic I am now paid the most I will possibly ever make in my entire life.
- Liam and I got a Wii, and my parents bought me a sweet leather jacket while I was home. Although these are not huge life altering moments, they do somehow feel as if they belong in someone elses life. I cruise around in a 50s bomber, and then go home to play video games. It's fucking weird is what it is.
- We are moving house. I still love quaint and cobbled and riding boots and castles - but jesus fucking christ. My knees hurt. I hate having mice. I hate the constant construction to revamp the old, decrepitness of these buildings. So we are mving up and out to a bigger, quieter place. Thank the lords.
- On Monday I am leaving for London. I will not be in my own bed for 13 nights, and see 4 cities in 3 countries in that time.
- 3 days after I get back I am going to Australia. On a 26 hour flight via Dubai where apparantly the meals are 5 course and my personal tv (holding 400 movies) is also a playstation. I have never looked upon travelling so lightly. Even if it will be two days later by the time I get there.
- In between all that I am going to Liam's mom's gay wedding, sorting out next year's fest, supporting liam in quitting his job and starting a new course and figuring out the rest of my life so we can leave this god forsaken island (and planning and saving up for our birthday getaway in grenada - can you believe I can afford a week in spain with flights for like half a plane ticket home? it's disgusting.)
- life is big. not like having a baby big, but pretty close. new house, new life, planning a big move and a new job. also vaguely dicussing the someday wedding and babies, but only in hazy enough terms our heads dont explode. and oh yeah, being an international ambassador for the worlds largest celebration of literature and ideas. it's nothing really.
- It's fall. It's gray and wet the vast majority of everyday. My bones are cold. My soul is cold and Liam and I came to the realisation we don't want ot live here anymore. We are moving to America. Christmas 2009 we hope.
- My sister got married. Seperate from the wedding, the glitz, the family, the celebrations, it was also a hugely emotional thing. It was a momentous occasion in my life, even if I wasn't the one to say I do, and my brain is still toying with it. The fact that I smiled more than I ever have, belted my guts out more than I thought I could, danced like a loon in front of strangers, took shots traight from the bottle with some columbians (now family) and still hid in the bathroom to cry unexpected Elinor tears during their first dance kind of sums up my day.
- The wedding and the ensuing family reunion was a wonderful blast that was perfect and lovely and an odd combination of not nearly enough of anyone and too much birthday.
- And I so badly want to come home for Christmas and I just don't think I'll have the money. The first time I've really been too poor for something and it's ironic I am now paid the most I will possibly ever make in my entire life.
- Liam and I got a Wii, and my parents bought me a sweet leather jacket while I was home. Although these are not huge life altering moments, they do somehow feel as if they belong in someone elses life. I cruise around in a 50s bomber, and then go home to play video games. It's fucking weird is what it is.
- We are moving house. I still love quaint and cobbled and riding boots and castles - but jesus fucking christ. My knees hurt. I hate having mice. I hate the constant construction to revamp the old, decrepitness of these buildings. So we are mving up and out to a bigger, quieter place. Thank the lords.
- On Monday I am leaving for London. I will not be in my own bed for 13 nights, and see 4 cities in 3 countries in that time.
- 3 days after I get back I am going to Australia. On a 26 hour flight via Dubai where apparantly the meals are 5 course and my personal tv (holding 400 movies) is also a playstation. I have never looked upon travelling so lightly. Even if it will be two days later by the time I get there.
- In between all that I am going to Liam's mom's gay wedding, sorting out next year's fest, supporting liam in quitting his job and starting a new course and figuring out the rest of my life so we can leave this god forsaken island (and planning and saving up for our birthday getaway in grenada - can you believe I can afford a week in spain with flights for like half a plane ticket home? it's disgusting.)
- life is big. not like having a baby big, but pretty close. new house, new life, planning a big move and a new job. also vaguely dicussing the someday wedding and babies, but only in hazy enough terms our heads dont explode. and oh yeah, being an international ambassador for the worlds largest celebration of literature and ideas. it's nothing really.
13 September 2008
so, i am back at my parents house.
something I always look forward to, and yet always comes with a couple of days of trying to sync the life I had here with them and the me I am now. it always takes a minute to readjust without reverting.
but anyway, it is very nice. it's quite quiet just the three of us bumming around, watching BSG and snacking (my parents are a gold mine of weird food).
but it's also the calm before the wedding storm - by wednesday the house will be chock a block, so i'm making the most of now to get over the jet lag and cold and sort out the last minute details. we are all a bit on pins and needles i think, with dresses, shoes, invitations and stuff floating around us quietly humming in the background.
it's all a bit much to be honest, but I am so excited it's quite literally hard to contain myself. because no matter what, it isn't about the right amount of stuff or if i have limp hair from the weird water here.
it's about kate. and jimmy. and forever. and quite frankly, you can't fuck that up. it's unmitigated joy.
something I always look forward to, and yet always comes with a couple of days of trying to sync the life I had here with them and the me I am now. it always takes a minute to readjust without reverting.
but anyway, it is very nice. it's quite quiet just the three of us bumming around, watching BSG and snacking (my parents are a gold mine of weird food).
but it's also the calm before the wedding storm - by wednesday the house will be chock a block, so i'm making the most of now to get over the jet lag and cold and sort out the last minute details. we are all a bit on pins and needles i think, with dresses, shoes, invitations and stuff floating around us quietly humming in the background.
it's all a bit much to be honest, but I am so excited it's quite literally hard to contain myself. because no matter what, it isn't about the right amount of stuff or if i have limp hair from the weird water here.
it's about kate. and jimmy. and forever. and quite frankly, you can't fuck that up. it's unmitigated joy.
03 September 2008
opportunity costs
today I got the call of a lifetime. and it couldn't have been worse timing.
things are busy.
there have been delightful moments (a dvorak concert at the castle with synchronised fireworks and a picnic of strawberries and french cider), there have been hard moments (the debilitating pain of the last few days of the festival), and then there is the rest of life. which i tend to brush over.
now that thing I spent the last 11 months plannig is over. I am a little hollow, a little worn, and a little bit terrified that the rest of the world keeps going, assuming i am still a functioning being when I am out of steam, out of enthusiasm, and pretty much drifting about like a ghost.
Today, I am taking tally of my autumn - being prepared helps me feel less fractured.
Next week, I need to close this Festival. Sign off budgets, send thank you notes, debrief with the staff.
And then Friday I head home for a relaxing holiday/wedding extravaganza. A delightful oxymoron I've been looking forward to for over a year now.
After the dust settles, it's two weeks back at work getting my head on and preparing the vision for the next year with large amounts of research, meetings and planning.
Then, in mid-October I am in London for two whole weeks of meetings with publishers, charities, galleries and partners in a world of schmoozing, business and busy London life.
So, after one week of full on London - then of course, the middle weekend I am dashing to Kent for Liam's mom's gay wedding at a castle, which will be a hoot and a half Then back to London for another 5 days of madness.
Then, that Friday I am jumping on a plane to Chicago for a quick weekend of Anika's black tie Chicago wedding. Which will be amazing, but so so busy and so much jetlag and so much work to catch up on.
And today I got the call of a lifetime.
The following Tuesday, I am due back in Edinburgh by 8am.
I have been asked if I'd like to head a contingency of literati for a conference/tour of here and Australia as an international collective of arts workers looking to the future.
It is a dream gig.
But can I realistically say I can jump off one plane and onto another bound for Melbourne until 16 November (bearing in mind I won't have been at my desk for a month and my programme still needs legs)?
It's fucking insane. But it's also impossible to turn down. I have always wanted to go to Australia. To go, doing what i do best, and seeing the world as a cultural ambassador with the prospect of international collaboration and a whole new vision is really not the kind of thing one gets asked to do (on a full free ride) everyday.
But can I abandon this life for that length of time? Can i really tell Liam I am disappearing for the better part of a month and not expect that to have reprecussions? Do I want to be my job, or do I want to come home?
Sigh...
Today is not the day for decisions.
If I feel better later, I'm going to the gala opening of Bond Bound - an exclusive exhibition of the original 007 book covers and charity auction. But you know what? I might not. And for once, I am totally okay with not going to something just because I can and it'll make a good story later. My psyche is too important for that. I have a lot of shit to sort out.
things are busy.
there have been delightful moments (a dvorak concert at the castle with synchronised fireworks and a picnic of strawberries and french cider), there have been hard moments (the debilitating pain of the last few days of the festival), and then there is the rest of life. which i tend to brush over.
now that thing I spent the last 11 months plannig is over. I am a little hollow, a little worn, and a little bit terrified that the rest of the world keeps going, assuming i am still a functioning being when I am out of steam, out of enthusiasm, and pretty much drifting about like a ghost.
Today, I am taking tally of my autumn - being prepared helps me feel less fractured.
Next week, I need to close this Festival. Sign off budgets, send thank you notes, debrief with the staff.
And then Friday I head home for a relaxing holiday/wedding extravaganza. A delightful oxymoron I've been looking forward to for over a year now.
After the dust settles, it's two weeks back at work getting my head on and preparing the vision for the next year with large amounts of research, meetings and planning.
Then, in mid-October I am in London for two whole weeks of meetings with publishers, charities, galleries and partners in a world of schmoozing, business and busy London life.
So, after one week of full on London - then of course, the middle weekend I am dashing to Kent for Liam's mom's gay wedding at a castle, which will be a hoot and a half Then back to London for another 5 days of madness.
Then, that Friday I am jumping on a plane to Chicago for a quick weekend of Anika's black tie Chicago wedding. Which will be amazing, but so so busy and so much jetlag and so much work to catch up on.
And today I got the call of a lifetime.
The following Tuesday, I am due back in Edinburgh by 8am.
I have been asked if I'd like to head a contingency of literati for a conference/tour of here and Australia as an international collective of arts workers looking to the future.
It is a dream gig.
But can I realistically say I can jump off one plane and onto another bound for Melbourne until 16 November (bearing in mind I won't have been at my desk for a month and my programme still needs legs)?
It's fucking insane. But it's also impossible to turn down. I have always wanted to go to Australia. To go, doing what i do best, and seeing the world as a cultural ambassador with the prospect of international collaboration and a whole new vision is really not the kind of thing one gets asked to do (on a full free ride) everyday.
But can I abandon this life for that length of time? Can i really tell Liam I am disappearing for the better part of a month and not expect that to have reprecussions? Do I want to be my job, or do I want to come home?
Sigh...
Today is not the day for decisions.
If I feel better later, I'm going to the gala opening of Bond Bound - an exclusive exhibition of the original 007 book covers and charity auction. But you know what? I might not. And for once, I am totally okay with not going to something just because I can and it'll make a good story later. My psyche is too important for that. I have a lot of shit to sort out.
24 August 2008
it is sunny. and warm. and of my 19 events today, the first 10 have gone off without a hitch.
The fact that a publisher sent up a giant elephant costume (about a famous elephant picture book) assuming I would have a random minion to hand to wear it and dance about like a loon in front of 80 small children caused slight panic this morning. But Julie saved the day in a groundbreaking elephant boogie which I am sure will be discussed for years to come (and I will owe her copious amounts of cakes to pay her back). It was outstanding.
So right now, I am glugging coke straight from the two litre and gearing up for an afternoon of interactive poetry and flour bombs.
I love my job.
ps - I will be home in exactly 19 days!
The fact that a publisher sent up a giant elephant costume (about a famous elephant picture book) assuming I would have a random minion to hand to wear it and dance about like a loon in front of 80 small children caused slight panic this morning. But Julie saved the day in a groundbreaking elephant boogie which I am sure will be discussed for years to come (and I will owe her copious amounts of cakes to pay her back). It was outstanding.
So right now, I am glugging coke straight from the two litre and gearing up for an afternoon of interactive poetry and flour bombs.
I love my job.
ps - I will be home in exactly 19 days!
21 August 2008
festive fever
so, life:
I am 12 days into my 18 day festival. My average shift is 8am to 10pm. It's grueling and aweful and also amazing. I love kids. I also love champagne. As long as I don't mix the two, things are going well.
Two days ago I was on the 6 o'clock news on BBC 1 (which is repeated at 10pm and 8am - so everyone can have a go). I've yet to see it but my colleagues say I was articulate, which is a bonus. I am now marginally famous. Little old ladies stop me in the street with excitement which is nice. But the real testament to stardom is that one of my college student temp staff says his friends think I'm 'well fit'. I was never a hottie when I was their age, but now I'm apparently a Mrs Robinson.
Yesterday, two of my colleagues who met at last year's Festival and still work here got engaged (to each other) and I am on cloud nine with sentimentality.
Liam's mom and her partner are visiting this week. It's insane to spend my spare waking minutes playing hostess and having dinner parties, but they are very nice and have great taste in wine.
I have also handled two major first aid incidents. One of my staff members had a seizure so she & I spent the afternoon in hospital, and I was the one who called her mom.
Then two days later, a lady had a miscarriage in one of my tents. It was pretty aweful. It took all I had to play with her two toddlers and keep them engaged and calm while their mom was pulled out with an IV and stretcher. They are all fine now. I might be less so.
Other than that, I am living on 4 hours sleep, gutted I am missing the new modernist interpretive ballet of Dorian Gray which is taking the town by storm after it's New York premiere (it's the guy that did the Edward Scissorhands ballet a while back. le sigh.), and trying to get my shit together for the big wedding do in a month.
Things are...busy.
I am 12 days into my 18 day festival. My average shift is 8am to 10pm. It's grueling and aweful and also amazing. I love kids. I also love champagne. As long as I don't mix the two, things are going well.
Two days ago I was on the 6 o'clock news on BBC 1 (which is repeated at 10pm and 8am - so everyone can have a go). I've yet to see it but my colleagues say I was articulate, which is a bonus. I am now marginally famous. Little old ladies stop me in the street with excitement which is nice. But the real testament to stardom is that one of my college student temp staff says his friends think I'm 'well fit'. I was never a hottie when I was their age, but now I'm apparently a Mrs Robinson.
Yesterday, two of my colleagues who met at last year's Festival and still work here got engaged (to each other) and I am on cloud nine with sentimentality.
Liam's mom and her partner are visiting this week. It's insane to spend my spare waking minutes playing hostess and having dinner parties, but they are very nice and have great taste in wine.
I have also handled two major first aid incidents. One of my staff members had a seizure so she & I spent the afternoon in hospital, and I was the one who called her mom.
Then two days later, a lady had a miscarriage in one of my tents. It was pretty aweful. It took all I had to play with her two toddlers and keep them engaged and calm while their mom was pulled out with an IV and stretcher. They are all fine now. I might be less so.
Other than that, I am living on 4 hours sleep, gutted I am missing the new modernist interpretive ballet of Dorian Gray which is taking the town by storm after it's New York premiere (it's the guy that did the Edward Scissorhands ballet a while back. le sigh.), and trying to get my shit together for the big wedding do in a month.
Things are...busy.
24 July 2008
google love
For the first time in eons, I've been just dicking around on the Internet. It's an old fashioned sort of fun, surfing.
I still remember when it was difficult to find what you wanted on the web. Before comprehensive searches or tags. I still remember before it even was called the internet, and was just a bunch of networked nerds in DOS, but I suppose that's not really the point.
My point is, now you can actually do anything you want.
Behold, a hidden page of google I was as yet unaware of : http://www.google.com/intl/en/help/features.html
I love free information. It's like being high, but more fun.
I still remember when it was difficult to find what you wanted on the web. Before comprehensive searches or tags. I still remember before it even was called the internet, and was just a bunch of networked nerds in DOS, but I suppose that's not really the point.
My point is, now you can actually do anything you want.
Behold, a hidden page of google I was as yet unaware of : http://www.google.com/intl/en/help/features.html
I love free information. It's like being high, but more fun.
23 July 2008
lost
Today, I feel aweful. Somedays I just don't know how other people are even walking around much less being nice to each other or eating healthy or saving orphans.
As I shuffled home from a grueling day at work, my eyes glazed on the middle distance, I wondered what had gone so wrong. Where was I? Because I sure as hell wasn't in my body living my life.
I took a picture to record this feeling. And I didn't even recognise me. I looked like this:
I tried to look objectively, at this washed out, dried up, hollow shell of a person and wonder what happened. Not really what's wrong, because lord knows I'm not leaving my job or giving up on the lifetime's worth of social functions and stress bandying about at the minute (this isn't about problems I told myself, it's about solutions).
So I asked, what is missing in this photo? Apart from a bad hair cut, tired clothes and an over all dismal walk to imbibe everyday, there is no person there.
So I detoured. I walked barefoot through a graveyard I'd not visited in a while. I stopped to listen to the trains whistling below my feet. I looked up at the castle and tried to guess how tall it was.
Because the thing that is missing is me. What do I do? What do I enjoy? What am I looking forward to? When do I do the things I love?
I suddenly don't have answers for these, and that revelation is a great sadness.
I want to look like this again:
This was only 3 weeks ago. Chucking down rain, horrible cramps, no sleep, staying with the psuedo-in-laws. But a whole person, a contentment shines out (although it is quite a terrible picture of liam)
I want to feel like this:
This was a lifetime ago, or three years anyway.
And I just don't feel the magic anymore.
As I shuffled home from a grueling day at work, my eyes glazed on the middle distance, I wondered what had gone so wrong. Where was I? Because I sure as hell wasn't in my body living my life.
I took a picture to record this feeling. And I didn't even recognise me. I looked like this:
I tried to look objectively, at this washed out, dried up, hollow shell of a person and wonder what happened. Not really what's wrong, because lord knows I'm not leaving my job or giving up on the lifetime's worth of social functions and stress bandying about at the minute (this isn't about problems I told myself, it's about solutions).
So I asked, what is missing in this photo? Apart from a bad hair cut, tired clothes and an over all dismal walk to imbibe everyday, there is no person there.
So I detoured. I walked barefoot through a graveyard I'd not visited in a while. I stopped to listen to the trains whistling below my feet. I looked up at the castle and tried to guess how tall it was.
Because the thing that is missing is me. What do I do? What do I enjoy? What am I looking forward to? When do I do the things I love?
I suddenly don't have answers for these, and that revelation is a great sadness.
I want to look like this again:
This was only 3 weeks ago. Chucking down rain, horrible cramps, no sleep, staying with the psuedo-in-laws. But a whole person, a contentment shines out (although it is quite a terrible picture of liam)
I want to feel like this:
This was a lifetime ago, or three years anyway.
And I just don't feel the magic anymore.
22 July 2008
slept
Sleeping with someone else will never be like sleeping alone.
Yes, I cannot describe how totally awesome it is. It means falling asleep as the little spoon every night, and someone to pet your head when you have a nightmare. And the whole waking up to the person you love, beautiful in the dappled sunlight, lazy morning sex routine is truly unbeatable.
But it also means that without a fuck off big bed and the ability to be comatose no matter what your environment (and without a care for the feeling and comfort of your bunkmate), completely solid night's sleep are fewer.
This may not be true for everyone, it may not even always be true for me. But I feel like after two years I should have settled into a pattern by now. And jesus, sometimes is it hard.
Not anyone's fault. Not unbearable. But sometimes, on small occasions of insomnia, oh do I miss that spread eagled, not a care in the world, crashing, blackness of sleep that you can have in complete solitude. a10 or 12 hour slab of solid, thick rest without interruption. That is some sort of bliss.
Yes, I cannot describe how totally awesome it is. It means falling asleep as the little spoon every night, and someone to pet your head when you have a nightmare. And the whole waking up to the person you love, beautiful in the dappled sunlight, lazy morning sex routine is truly unbeatable.
But it also means that without a fuck off big bed and the ability to be comatose no matter what your environment (and without a care for the feeling and comfort of your bunkmate), completely solid night's sleep are fewer.
This may not be true for everyone, it may not even always be true for me. But I feel like after two years I should have settled into a pattern by now. And jesus, sometimes is it hard.
Not anyone's fault. Not unbearable. But sometimes, on small occasions of insomnia, oh do I miss that spread eagled, not a care in the world, crashing, blackness of sleep that you can have in complete solitude. a10 or 12 hour slab of solid, thick rest without interruption. That is some sort of bliss.
19 July 2008
bachelorettes & bourjois
Having lived in the UK's number one (and one of Europe's top 10) destination for hen parties for the last 4 years, I am sad to say the honeymoon period where you find drunk women wearing a random array of ill fitting costumes and penis paraphernalia funny, has sort of ended.
I must say, the middle aged slutty disney princess parade was a laugh, but I felt bad they were so cold, wearing so little, and had accidentally stumbled into the strip club soho block of town where they might have been mistaken as staff.
Now, I've never really been offended by theae gatherings (I bet it's probably pretty fun actually, with the right mind set), but getting dolled up to go catcalling and clubbing it's not really my cup of tea on a random tuesday evening, no matter what we are celebrating.
But that is beside the point. The question that is on my mind today gentle reader is- why do women assume all other women enjoy this sort of wild, girly, raunchy activity? It's one of these stereotypes - like we all want to bitch about how our boyfriends and husbands give bad head or want to oogle calvin klien models and george clooney.
I don't mean these might not be true for lots of people, lots of the time (he is very pretty jennie, I know). But why is it naturally branded into my consciousness because of my gender?
Of all the women I have known who throw or attend these parties, no one ever asked the bride much less the guests if they are comfortable with the donning of a penis (there is totally a greek myth geek joke in there somewhere) and screaming in pink fire engines.
It's sort of like in college where it's impossible to imagine someone who wouldn't enjoy being shitfaced, and teetotalers make you feel weird. It's an almost backward peer pressure - where no one coerced you, they just naturally expected you'd want to.
And today, I am a little baffled on how we got here as a culture. Assumptions defining our social interaction to a point where in certain instances, no one even asks 'what do you want to do' anymore.
I heard once about a friend's husband on a business trip and went out for drinks one evening. After, his colleagues were all shocked he didn't want to go to a strip club and meet hookers, and they just went without him. He went home, dazed at the weirdness, and called his wife.
It's fucking strange. And for the record: I never want to wear a bridal veil in a sports bar, do body shots off a waiter, be taught how to give a blow job in my living room or eat a lollipop with 'nads.
Of course, if you want to, I'll go ahead and give it a shot as a chum - and if it's awesome all the better - but in case I ever get married, as is the catch phrase of the week in the media, "not in my name" please.
ps - Yes, this thought experiment was prompted by my sister's forth coming nuptuals, but the activities in question are unrealted, so don't expect this to bare any resemblance to our real lives or pass any judgement on anyone involved - I'm just playing curious.
I must say, the middle aged slutty disney princess parade was a laugh, but I felt bad they were so cold, wearing so little, and had accidentally stumbled into the strip club soho block of town where they might have been mistaken as staff.
Now, I've never really been offended by theae gatherings (I bet it's probably pretty fun actually, with the right mind set), but getting dolled up to go catcalling and clubbing it's not really my cup of tea on a random tuesday evening, no matter what we are celebrating.
But that is beside the point. The question that is on my mind today gentle reader is- why do women assume all other women enjoy this sort of wild, girly, raunchy activity? It's one of these stereotypes - like we all want to bitch about how our boyfriends and husbands give bad head or want to oogle calvin klien models and george clooney.
I don't mean these might not be true for lots of people, lots of the time (he is very pretty jennie, I know). But why is it naturally branded into my consciousness because of my gender?
Of all the women I have known who throw or attend these parties, no one ever asked the bride much less the guests if they are comfortable with the donning of a penis (there is totally a greek myth geek joke in there somewhere) and screaming in pink fire engines.
It's sort of like in college where it's impossible to imagine someone who wouldn't enjoy being shitfaced, and teetotalers make you feel weird. It's an almost backward peer pressure - where no one coerced you, they just naturally expected you'd want to.
And today, I am a little baffled on how we got here as a culture. Assumptions defining our social interaction to a point where in certain instances, no one even asks 'what do you want to do' anymore.
I heard once about a friend's husband on a business trip and went out for drinks one evening. After, his colleagues were all shocked he didn't want to go to a strip club and meet hookers, and they just went without him. He went home, dazed at the weirdness, and called his wife.
It's fucking strange. And for the record: I never want to wear a bridal veil in a sports bar, do body shots off a waiter, be taught how to give a blow job in my living room or eat a lollipop with 'nads.
Of course, if you want to, I'll go ahead and give it a shot as a chum - and if it's awesome all the better - but in case I ever get married, as is the catch phrase of the week in the media, "not in my name" please.
ps - Yes, this thought experiment was prompted by my sister's forth coming nuptuals, but the activities in question are unrealted, so don't expect this to bare any resemblance to our real lives or pass any judgement on anyone involved - I'm just playing curious.
16 July 2008
I might someday finish the catalogue of our trip, but I am too fucking tired.
The short version:
wedding in brighton to mixed reviews
pseudo-in-laws will probably never be easy
Dover Castle is outstanding
The water there is so hard it changed my plumbing.
I miss sunshine so much it hurts.
But today, I was cheered by two things:
1, I am going to look at a new flat tomorrow. It's on a river.
2, I still in my spare time collect good signage. Silly, odd, badly translated or just charming.
Not only did I see a van marked 'Scotchick' which isn't about under age scottish lasses doing stupid things or about liqour of any sort. It is followed by the subheading "Scotland's number one for whole flavoured chickens". I kid you not. I'm not sure if you can get grape or tar though which would be my obvious first two choices.
But my current favourite is a construction sign (that bold white font on a red background) - "Heavy Plant Crossing". the options are mindboggling.
The short version:
wedding in brighton to mixed reviews
pseudo-in-laws will probably never be easy
Dover Castle is outstanding
The water there is so hard it changed my plumbing.
I miss sunshine so much it hurts.
But today, I was cheered by two things:
1, I am going to look at a new flat tomorrow. It's on a river.
2, I still in my spare time collect good signage. Silly, odd, badly translated or just charming.
Not only did I see a van marked 'Scotchick' which isn't about under age scottish lasses doing stupid things or about liqour of any sort. It is followed by the subheading "Scotland's number one for whole flavoured chickens". I kid you not. I'm not sure if you can get grape or tar though which would be my obvious first two choices.
But my current favourite is a construction sign (that bold white font on a red background) - "Heavy Plant Crossing". the options are mindboggling.
13 July 2008
Our Last Two Weeks, part II
So, after a day back at work post-Queen-spotting, and a day of housework, we were on the road to Brighton on Friday 4/7/08.
From halfway up Scotland to the centre of the south coast of England would take a conservative 8 hours in our rental Micra. Armed with juice boxes, and trail mix we hit the road at 7am.
It was a beautiful day until roadworks and the M25 (the highway that circles greater London) at 5pm on a Friday almost killed us. 8 hours stretched to 10 the 12.
By the time we arrived, we'd had a pointless crabby car fight and had to walk into a cocktail party sweaty and tired and 3 hours late to meet Liam's new step-family of about 50 people who are exactly like my Canadian cousins.
In a word, they are a good laugh, but not the calm, reserved and thoughtful faces one wants to see after a long day. More the - hand you a shot, yell in your ear, give a big hug and expect mildly entertaining conversation - types. Fun, but tough.
But of course, the 4th of July - the night was not over. So post-cocktails, Liam's brother and sister took us to a kitchy american dinner for amazing milkshakes and mediocre burgers to celebrate - then went to the beach (Brighton faces out onto the North Atlantic) and lit sparklers from some hippie's bonfire and danced around in the pitch black of the night sky to the sound of the waves.
It was freaking adorable.
Next time: Nuptuals and Nightmares
From halfway up Scotland to the centre of the south coast of England would take a conservative 8 hours in our rental Micra. Armed with juice boxes, and trail mix we hit the road at 7am.
It was a beautiful day until roadworks and the M25 (the highway that circles greater London) at 5pm on a Friday almost killed us. 8 hours stretched to 10 the 12.
By the time we arrived, we'd had a pointless crabby car fight and had to walk into a cocktail party sweaty and tired and 3 hours late to meet Liam's new step-family of about 50 people who are exactly like my Canadian cousins.
In a word, they are a good laugh, but not the calm, reserved and thoughtful faces one wants to see after a long day. More the - hand you a shot, yell in your ear, give a big hug and expect mildly entertaining conversation - types. Fun, but tough.
But of course, the 4th of July - the night was not over. So post-cocktails, Liam's brother and sister took us to a kitchy american dinner for amazing milkshakes and mediocre burgers to celebrate - then went to the beach (Brighton faces out onto the North Atlantic) and lit sparklers from some hippie's bonfire and danced around in the pitch black of the night sky to the sound of the waves.
It was freaking adorable.
Next time: Nuptuals and Nightmares
Our Last Two Weeks, part 1
It is time, ladies and gentlemen, for a fortnightly round-up of the exciting adventures in my life.
First, let's travel back in time (doodle loodle loo, doodle loodle loo)
Tuesday, 1 July.
After having a massive meeting with one of the 5 largest banks in the world (I am not stupid enough to risk their six figure annual donation here), I went home from work at lunchtime.
I had to put on a newly dry cleaned dress (the first time I have ever paid this middle-class right of passage), and help Liam tie the unfathomable and yet utterly dashing windsor knot in his burnished copper silk tie - because at 2pm a taxi came to pick us up.
destination: the palace.
Today was the Queen's Garden Party - an annual event that gathers together the disgustingly rich, the public service sector and a random smattering of boy scouts, marching bands and diplomats to celebrate her majesty's birthday.
She has 3 in London and one in Edinburgh, and I was invited, I suppose, as one of the up and coming of the city. So, we went. I even bought a hat (it was required) with veil - it was totally Casablanca or some shit.
And by the way, it is prohibited to be unaccompanied in the presence of royalty (in case I was to bog off with a prince and cause a scandal I guess), so I brought my trusty british arm candy decked out like a Paul Smith model, and my passport for the ID check at the gate.
Upon arrival, we witnessed the royal procession down ed carpeted stairs to the garden while a brass band played God Save the Queen - which it turns out is the same song as America the Beautiful but with different words. Looks like we even thieved that out of spite. It was very diginified. Then, we ate copious amounts of cake.
Luckily, and also sadly, were dressed infinitely better than everyone else. Turns out rich people stop trying after the first few fetes and the number of people invited for 50 years of postal service or some such thing pulled out whatever semi-formal they wore to wedding 10 years and 15 pounds ago with a JC Penny Hat on top. Some of it was ghastly.
My new official dress code for formal occasions is you cannot show the backs of your knees in royal company. It's distasteful, no matter what your gender or age. (The number of past-middle-aged men whose kilts were hitching up in the back and showing just too much leg was appalling. )
In general, it was adorable and hilarious though, and so very pseudo-posh British. The Queen was in a lemon suit, just like always, and looked at the rabble of hysterical middle aged women who would RUN (when you didn't think it was possible) to stand near her with a steely resignation. It was a sight to behold.
The most bizarre part was when we all took tea (or lemonade or iced coffee), it wasn't the gold foil royal crest on the chocolate petit fours that got me. But the royal tea tent. Princess Anne needed respite I imagine and I think Philip was sneaking a tipple of something into his coffee, so they process to a private marquis. But the tent was glass sided on two sides - so about 700 middle aged loons could stand on the outside peering at them like a zoo observing to each other if Ma'am takes one sugar or two. They even stood on chairs and pushed like they were at the day after thanksgiving sales at Hudsons. Needless to say, we ceceeded from the madness and wandered the rose garden and medieval abbey ruins embedded in the lawn instead.
It was outstanding.
Of course, the version I tell my grandmother will significantly up the ante (more about the royal guard of archers - with real bows and arrows! - less about the tasteless fashion), and ever the royalist she will weep with joy that I've witnessed the upper eschelons at tea.
Next on our agenda: a weekend in Brighton.
First, let's travel back in time (doodle loodle loo, doodle loodle loo)
Tuesday, 1 July.
After having a massive meeting with one of the 5 largest banks in the world (I am not stupid enough to risk their six figure annual donation here), I went home from work at lunchtime.
I had to put on a newly dry cleaned dress (the first time I have ever paid this middle-class right of passage), and help Liam tie the unfathomable and yet utterly dashing windsor knot in his burnished copper silk tie - because at 2pm a taxi came to pick us up.
destination: the palace.
Today was the Queen's Garden Party - an annual event that gathers together the disgustingly rich, the public service sector and a random smattering of boy scouts, marching bands and diplomats to celebrate her majesty's birthday.
She has 3 in London and one in Edinburgh, and I was invited, I suppose, as one of the up and coming of the city. So, we went. I even bought a hat (it was required) with veil - it was totally Casablanca or some shit.
And by the way, it is prohibited to be unaccompanied in the presence of royalty (in case I was to bog off with a prince and cause a scandal I guess), so I brought my trusty british arm candy decked out like a Paul Smith model, and my passport for the ID check at the gate.
Upon arrival, we witnessed the royal procession down ed carpeted stairs to the garden while a brass band played God Save the Queen - which it turns out is the same song as America the Beautiful but with different words. Looks like we even thieved that out of spite. It was very diginified. Then, we ate copious amounts of cake.
Luckily, and also sadly, were dressed infinitely better than everyone else. Turns out rich people stop trying after the first few fetes and the number of people invited for 50 years of postal service or some such thing pulled out whatever semi-formal they wore to wedding 10 years and 15 pounds ago with a JC Penny Hat on top. Some of it was ghastly.
My new official dress code for formal occasions is you cannot show the backs of your knees in royal company. It's distasteful, no matter what your gender or age. (The number of past-middle-aged men whose kilts were hitching up in the back and showing just too much leg was appalling. )
In general, it was adorable and hilarious though, and so very pseudo-posh British. The Queen was in a lemon suit, just like always, and looked at the rabble of hysterical middle aged women who would RUN (when you didn't think it was possible) to stand near her with a steely resignation. It was a sight to behold.
The most bizarre part was when we all took tea (or lemonade or iced coffee), it wasn't the gold foil royal crest on the chocolate petit fours that got me. But the royal tea tent. Princess Anne needed respite I imagine and I think Philip was sneaking a tipple of something into his coffee, so they process to a private marquis. But the tent was glass sided on two sides - so about 700 middle aged loons could stand on the outside peering at them like a zoo observing to each other if Ma'am takes one sugar or two. They even stood on chairs and pushed like they were at the day after thanksgiving sales at Hudsons. Needless to say, we ceceeded from the madness and wandered the rose garden and medieval abbey ruins embedded in the lawn instead.
It was outstanding.
Of course, the version I tell my grandmother will significantly up the ante (more about the royal guard of archers - with real bows and arrows! - less about the tasteless fashion), and ever the royalist she will weep with joy that I've witnessed the upper eschelons at tea.
Next on our agenda: a weekend in Brighton.
30 June 2008
things that are true today
- halloumi is possibly the best thing Crete ever gave the world. i love squeaky cheese.
- i love my family. a lot. but they are incredibly frustrating a times.
- on a side note, my 11 year old cousin regularly sends me chain emails about finding god. to say it is odd (and possibly unintentionally offensive) is an understatment.
- i absolutely love to come home after a long day at work and have impromptu sex in the fading daylight.
- i have started another grown up book. the signs are promising
- today i was interviewed for a kids website summer reading campaign. it was sweet to say the least.
- liam's computer game mod just started playing rachmaninov's prelude in c sharp minor. not only is the designer geeky enough build a civ world about the age of imperialism, he has thematically chosen a period approrpiate score when my baby begins a russian campaign to dominate scandinavia. i love it.
- i love my family. a lot. but they are incredibly frustrating a times.
- on a side note, my 11 year old cousin regularly sends me chain emails about finding god. to say it is odd (and possibly unintentionally offensive) is an understatment.
- i absolutely love to come home after a long day at work and have impromptu sex in the fading daylight.
- i have started another grown up book. the signs are promising
- today i was interviewed for a kids website summer reading campaign. it was sweet to say the least.
- liam's computer game mod just started playing rachmaninov's prelude in c sharp minor. not only is the designer geeky enough build a civ world about the age of imperialism, he has thematically chosen a period approrpiate score when my baby begins a russian campaign to dominate scandinavia. i love it.
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