Posts in category "Daily Life"

Christmas Observer '07

Another Christmas with Shirley and her fam­i­ly, although this time Bill’s fam­i­ly came down as well. I spent Christmas Eve night and Christmas day at their house, par­tak­ing in the Christmas expe­ri­ence with those who believe in the impor­tance of such a rit­u­al.

Presents under the tree

We were wrap­ping presents (from “Santa”) until mid­night on Christmas Eve. The tree must have been raised the two feet off the ground to fit every­thing under­neath. Negotiations went on through the night as to what time to wake up, but the kids woke us up at 6:30 any­way. Looking back on the pic­tures of 2005, you can tell how much they’ve grown in just two years.

Loads more pic­tures behind the cut.

Continue read­ing “Christmas Observer ‘07”…

Holiday Stretch

Hi there.

I’m already in hol­i­day mode. Sure, I have one day of work left — Monday — but my brain has checked out. I even took the day off yes­ter­day and made it a long week­end because I have extra vaca­tion days left, and they can’t be car­ried for­ward.

The chaise lounge on which I do my writing

This is how I spend most of my time nowa­days: on my new chaise lounge from EQ3, with a mug of tea by my side, in a gen­er­al­ly unkempt man­ner. Unshaven, with the flour­ish of a cowlick in my hair.

Last year, in which I declared that Christmas is dead, I stayed home out of spite, not direct­ed at any­one but myself. This year, I’ve decid­ed to go to Shirley’s for Christmas Eve and Christmas, and Pat and Jen’s for New Year’s.

But there’s a stretch of a sev­er­al days in between in which I have no plans. Even though it’ll be a chance for me to do some extra writ­ing, work on my pho­to projects, maybe even relax a bit, part of me wish­es I was busy like every­one else.

I know I don’t have any­thing to com­plain about. I’m lucky enough to be spend­ing the “impor­tant” days with friends who are impor­tant to me. I’m even lucky enough to have a choice of where to go. But I know that dur­ing the stretch, when oth­er peo­ple has some­where to be, some­where to go, I’ll feel some­what for­lorn. They’ll have a place where they belong.

Maybe I’ll belong here, at home alone, on this won­der­ful chaise.

The Problem With Manual Stimulation

At the hair salon tonight, a new girl washed my hair. She went through the usu­al rou­tine, but before she fin­ished, she placed her fin­gers along the front of my hair­line, and with con­stant pres­sure, slow­ly worked her way back.

The water was warm, my hair was wet, and I felt the ten­sion going down my scalp. It was com­plete­ly sub­lime.

The edges of my lips start­ed curl­ing, but I could­n’t tell if I was help­less­ly smil­ing, or it was the stretch­ing of my skin upwards.

In the show­er tonight, when wash­ing out the stray hairs, I tried doing it on myself. It did­n’t feel the same, of course.

It was like that scene in Secretary, where Lee Holloway (played by Maggie Gyllenhaal) tries to spank her­self with a hair­brush when explor­ing her sub­mis­sive ten­den­cies. I love the expres­sion of intent, and ulti­mate­ly let­down, on her face.

The prob­lem with man­u­al stim­u­la­tion is that it nev­er feels as good as when some­one else does it for you.

Bittersweet Paradox

bit­ing keeps your words at bay
tend­ing to the sores that stay
hap­pi­ness is just a gash away
when i open a famil­iar scar
pain goes shoot­ing like a star
com­fort has­n’t failed to fol­low so far

and you might say it’s self-indul­gent
and you might say it’s self-destruc­tive
but, you see, it’s more pro­duc­tive
than if i were to be hap­py

—The Dresden Dolls, Bad Habit

I was jit­tery and ner­vous all day.

Several new devel­op­ments have left me with a lack of res­o­lu­tion. People to meet, presents to give, pic­tures to take, respon­si­bil­i­ties to ful­fill. And as much as I try not to think about it, it’s in my nature to do so.

I still haven’t got­ten passed this feel­ing. Still don’t know if I want to. Still don’t even know what it is. All I know is that it’s mak­ing me man­ic.

Until I fig­ure it out, I’ll wal­low in it.

I can only write this at night. When I’m falling asleep and off my guard, sit­ting on my chaise, with the cur­tains drawn and the win­dow open to the win­ter air.

Now I feel like writ­ing, but I don’t even know what to say. Everything’s too jum­bled for me to decide whether I’m hap­py or sad. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s one because of the oth­er. Life, at the moment, is so bit­ter­sweet.

Wonderfully bit­ter­sweet, that’s what it is.

Hyperactive Euphoria

Maybe it was the exhaus­tion mak­ing me hyper­ac­tive and all WOOOOOOOOOOO this morn­ing. Maybe it was the weath­er on my side, try­ing to bury the city in 40cm of snow, telling me to for­get every­thing else. On see­ing myself in the mir­ror, I start­ed to have one of those Strung Out, Matchbook moments while shav­ing. You know, the part that goes

I just comb my hair and wash my face
Keep straight ahead and keep my pace
Just think about noth­ing and my life’ll be alright
Well I got my friends, I got my pen
I got a mil­lion dis­trac­tions to keep me warm
And all I know is that I’ll be alright, that I’ll be alright

And while it’s get­ting so busy that I can’t keep track of every­thing, it’s also nice to be dis­tract­ed. I can keep these thoughts in the back of my head, and bring them out when I need them. Almost like I’m in total con­trol of it all, while it con­tin­u­al­ly verges on the peak of insta­bil­i­ty.

Maybe it’s the insta­bil­i­ty I thrive on, a way of feel­ing like my life isn’t stag­nant. That way, I’m not in a rut, devoid of inspi­ra­tion.

So yeah. I think it’s mak­ing me hyper.