A piece of advice from thom yorke

By christa 8 November, 2006 random

don’t get sentimental, it always ends up drivel.

wise words.

now, onto the drivel…

this is actually an excerpt from a longer, much more drivelly piece of work that I wrote. talk about sentimental. god. you could kill a fricking herd of buffalos with the sentiments I was slinging out. but I liked this part and it doesn’t make me jam myself with forks. so I share, I share with you:

“I want so desperately to go back to when I was pregnant, lying on the bed, and it was dark and cool, and me, so nicely alone. the quiet, the calm I hadn’t felt in that house before. I held my hand there and we both surged with warmth. we sang to each other, we sang and we fell in love and we knew that we finally had graduated into forever. That was the most perfect moment in all our creation, our two heartbeats drumming away into nothingness, strong strong less less fainter weaker slower gone. my singularity.

but time moved on. to here, to this now, and I’m a loon job if ever there was one, and your father is just…I don’t know, he just is who he is, and we both love you but love cannot stop a supernova.”

hey I just imagined jamming myself with forks, and it wasn’t me taking a fork and stabbing into my flesh, which is appealing enough, but rather smearing sticky jam all over. you know, jamming. ha! and it was just for an instant that I pictured it, a flash, but it was hilarious. you had to be there, I suppose. had to be there in my head. so just never mind. still, I like the idea of jamming people. run up and smear jam on their arms or something. how weird would that be?

I am pretty hopeful for tonight’s elections, but I’m also counting on the democrats to screw up a sure thing. because that’s what we do. we screw up. sure things are our screwing up speciality.

halloween 2006

By christa 1 November, 2006 ry pics

We had fun trick or treating with Ryland this year. He was timid and apprehensive, but after the first house or two it started to sink in that people were giving him candy, candy and more candy. Then he became quite excited and after every house would sign “more.” (Ry doesn’t use many words, but he knows quite a few signs/gestures that he uses to communicate.) He walked around for about 80 mins, loading up two buckets of candy and enjoying all the attention.

It’s fun to experience halloween through Ryland.

Anyway, here are some pics of our spooky adventures. Well okay they weren’t spooky at all, but we did drive by a cemetary on the way home (we trick or treated in a relative’s neighborhood as our own is frightening in all the wrong ways).

it’s a bit of a rough start, for a girl like me

By christa 28 October, 2006 ry pics

We’re not far in the hockey season, but things are not starting off too swell, what with all of my teams playing like ass. I won’t get into, because talking about it both infuriates me and leaves me in the fetal position, but I wish for relief, please, and soon. I can’t suffer this much heartbreak night after night.

It is kind of disturbing how in gmail it will throw you relevant links to matters being discussed in an email conversation. For instance, should I mention the Bruins and my astonishing level of hatred for the Habs, it offers up tickets for hockey games and articles about Montreal and Boston right there along side my conversation. I’m waiting (er, hoping?) for them to link me to pictures of any/all members of the Canadiens (except samsonov) being kicked in the groin repeatedly. Then it wouldn’t be disturbing so much as pleasing and delightful.

I can tell you this much: my life is so drool-on-the-desk boring right now that not even my own stage-hungry tears of pity are willing to make an appearance.

To cheer us up, let’s all admire this photo of my son, riding in his wagon.

And how about this video, as he runs around our driveway and I finally get him to say mama…he’s only a year or so late.

Or maybe this picture after we just finished painting his pumpkin.

This video of him being silly and bored in the car…

Oh and this is the result of our pumpkin painting.

You know, his disappointingly clichéd love of trucks/cars/trains isn’t really so bad after all, despite my subtle (or so I hope) attempts at making him love non-gender oriented toys. But I certainly can’t deny his immense attraction to boy things. He likes them. He prefers them. I push nothing, offer everything, let him decide what his tastes are, and he wants the damn trucks. What can you do.

the sexiest number you’ve ever seen.

By christa 20 October, 2006 random

I think I’m finally settling into my age. I don’t know what it is, but for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I don’t feel that cloying at my throat, the terror of getting older. It was there last year, it was there at 30, it was there pretty much throughout my entire 20s. Somehow, somewhere, something changed. Now I feel good.* I am not ashamed to be 32. I’m proud! I love being 32. It’s sexy. That curvy 3, the teasing 2.

I figured out why I was so scared of getting older. Because one day I would wake up and suddenly I would be an old woman. Just like that. Go to bed a young lass and wake up wrinkled and weak, with nothing to show for it.

It doesn’t work like that, though. It’s a gradual process. And I get to experience it as it happens. I welcome all the wisdom and knowledge that comes with being 32, 35, 46, 50, and so on. I love seeing older women who are so self-assured and comfortable. It pleases me and gives me hope. Especially when I compare that to the floundering, careening lives of all these young kids.

So I’m getting older, yes, but it seems to be getting better, easier, simpler. In spite of or because of a world that tries to complicate the shit out of everything? I don’t know. I just know that I’m at peace with my age, for once in my life, and it feels fantastic. One less thing I need to obsess over and freak out about. Looking back at the past decade, it seems so silly. I basically wasted my twenties being worried about my thirties, instead of truly enjoying them.

At least I have my thirties to frolic in, right? Better late than never.

* this in no way suggests that I am happy, only that I’ve come to terms with my age. Let’s save the rainbows and butterflies for someone else, please.