an update of asides. Because that's the kind of friends we are, we are all note-passing and whispers. What? I wasn't talking. It wasn't me. I'm paying attention and facing front.
2004-12-05 @ 12:00 p.m.
We're barreling toward Christmas and the New Year here folks, and I'm trying to feel exhilaration for the ride. It's easier since there's nothing I really want to get for Christmas (except a new place to live and the ability to pack and clean with genie powers. Of course, twitching my nose a la Elizabeth Montgomery on Bewitched would be just as charming, but for some reason- if you are doing chores by supernatural means, in my mind, that is best done by Genie in a Bottle. So I guess for Christmas, I'd like a Genie in a Bottle- please hook me up!)
(Geez- I have this huge aside now, so I can tell you that when I was a kid- one of my chores was dusting each week, and my mom and dad had this fancy green bottle that you were supposed to keep like claret or something in, and it was displayed in a cabinet in our dining room. I loved this bottle with the cool glass stopper, and told my sister that it was the bottle our mother came in. Her name was Jeanne after all, but that was pretty transparent. I believe my sister stopped doing whatever chore she was in the middle of and asked my mom why she didn't just "blink" all the chores done. It never came out that I had said she was a Genie, and I think my mom just misunderstood the question and then my sister misunderstood her response. heh.)
End full on paragraph of an aside. Because I treat my diary as if it's "Seymour: An Introduction" and I am Buddy Glass- writing entirely additional stories via footnotes. It's my god given right.
(And now here's another aside, inspired by me bringing up JD Salinger, and it's about my dad- so in terms of my parents being equally honored in asides, my parents are good now. When I was in high school, I got my hot little hands on an 8X10 photo of JD Salinger, given to me by my English teacher. I loved it because I love him, AND because he looks like my dad. When I was 20, my bedroom was decorated primarily by clothes all over the floor and bed, and the only thing adorning the wall was that photo. When asked, I would say it was my dad and only reveal the truth if they believed me. It was fun. To be precise, I never once claimed to be any unclaimed child of JD Salinger, just that the man in that photo was my father. )
So it's busy at work, except when it's not. I'm feeling a little rundown, especially from dealing with the eternal fuckwattige of the Daddyman's ineptitude at relationships and responsibilities of any kind, but barring a tree in my path, I'm tobogganing.