|
Sunday, Mar. 27, 2005 / 11:26 p.m. ~The Wind Down~ This is one of those "I'll just log on to check email - oh, wait, I didn't write in my diary, did I? - I really should check tomorrow's horoscope - hey, did Schiavo die yet?, best have a look..." moments. I'll be gone in a flash. At times the rain is so heavy it's impossible to believe, like I just want to go look out the window to be sure, like I should hold my head down and open my umbrella, and I'm not even out in it. My car will be wet inside tomorrow, and I fear one day the sun roof will simply fall in from rot. I've nicknamed Gladys "Lumpy McGillicuddy" (on account of her lumps), and I'm not sure why. I think it came to me in a dream. I was calling her Clarence, because that was Lumpy's real name, on "Leave it to Beaver", but Clarence doesn't really appeal in a cat way. Rain, here it comes again, hard, harder, hardest. I think today must be recovery day. I did drink more alcohol than I usually drink, when the usual is nothing at all, but dancing last night was dreamy. I don't know that I'm good at it, I don't know what other people think when they see me dance, and oddly, I don't care, but it does occur quite after the fact. It was a good time, and I needed it, and as I sank into it, and it was good, and I found that place wherein I feel I really may not ever stop moving, I realized I was releasing something from inside, and I can only note again, it was good. Today I watched "West Side Story" (for the one millionth time), and sang along to all the songs, and then "Something's Gotta Give", which I'd never seen, and I loved loved loved it. Especially the scenes where Keanu Reaves' doctor character wants Diane Keaton's playwright character, like really wants her, like falls in love with her wants her. I loved that. But I'm an older woman who loves younger men, so it fit. And I happen to be most obsessed with the birthday upcoming and reconciling the person I see in the mirror, namely me, with the number I'll soon call myself. Yep, a number. Hi, I'm 44. Hello there, I am forty-four. I'm getting used to it, trying it on for size, saying it aloud with the intent to shock people, and I love when it works. It worked last night too. I was told I've lived well, and I said it's genes. It's all about the DNA, baby. Thursday and Saturday nights were wild, plainly and simply, and today was all about the winding down, the coming back down to earth, and categorizing, filing away, and resting, just resting. Tomorrow it all starts again, and my car will be wet, on the inside. I feel there was something more to note, but now it escapes me. Must not have been too important. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |