(no subject)

strangely restless today, imagining scenarios full of the worst possible cases ever, feeling lonely in one of those unrefutable ways, and hoping it'll pass. full of little plans, calling an Aunt, cleaning before Chile shows, maybe Rome with Lilo, ordering from Penzey's, from Harney's, wanting tickets to the Redbird and the Robbie shows at the end of this month, excited about the Dar/Girlyman show but in that weird superstituious way where i try not to admit to myself I'm pleased at the prospect of something. Feeling transitory, like something's going to blossom or something's going to crash any day now, and I'm hoping for the former, but preparing for the latter.

it's hard to let go of a certain sort of preparedness, hard to let go of anticipating the next bad thing to happen, even if i know that i'm calling up the next bad thing out of nothing by the force of my expectation, selffufilling prophecy for neither fun nor profit. I imagine the pace will feel like it's picking up any day now, holidays and holiday shopping and the wedding and turning thirty and either the settling of light's job, or the moment of decision where we acknowledge it's time to move, dental surgery, a new bed frame, and half of me wants to capture these moments of almost-boredom, varnish them with nailpolish like shells found on the beach and half of me wants to move past them to the next thing. i'm not restless enough to want to do something, i like my comfort, my jar of cumin, my cathair tumbleweeds, strange dreams of housekeeping matters that turn into real sleepy middleofthenight sex, i'm not interested in rocking this boat, and i'm not sure if the halfdesire to tip the whole thing over comes from some societal impulse of presumed dissatisfaction, that if i'm not wanting for anything i must be wrong somehow, or something more personal, a history of depression rebelling against a present of comfortableness. or the underpinnings of a protestant life, being told so many time that 'being smart' was the only thing of merit i had going for me, my fancy diploma curled and yellowing in a drawer somewhere, that a life that doesn't include additional degrees or the culture of academia feels like an illegitimate escape.

maybe the causes of this aren't to be ferreted out, and i only need to try and discard the resulting mood over and over again until the rejection sticks. all unexplored grass is greener, all grapes are sour except the ones currently possessed, but i'm happy against all odds and intend to teach myself to cherish that for all it is worth, and i'm learning.

in other news, it looks like i'll be home tomorrow night, and home alone for all of friday, since Light has first game and then has to go into work. and i'm so hideously spoiled by the fact that he works from home on most federal holidays that i'm actually a little bit (lot) upset that i'll be home alone. Here's hoping the Rome plans pan out. Or maybe I'll make the sweet potato pie thursday or friday instead of tonight. (i'm test driving desserts for thanksgiving that aren't apple pie)

off to the farm, now.

(no subject)

strangely restless today, imagining scenarios full of the worst possible cases ever, feeling lonely in one of those unrefutable ways, and hoping it'll pass. full of little plans, calling an Aunt, cleaning before Chile shows, maybe Rome with Lilo, ordering from Penzey's, from Harney's, wanting tickets to the Redbird and the Robbie shows at the end of this month, excited about the Dar/Girlyman show but in that weird superstituious way where i try not to admit to myself I'm pleased at the prospect of something. Feeling transitory, like something's going to blossom or something's going to crash any day now, and I'm hoping for the former, but preparing for the latter.

it's hard to let go of a certain sort of preparedness, hard to let go of anticipating the next bad thing to happen, even if i know that i'm calling up the next bad thing out of nothing by the force of my expectation, selffufilling prophecy for neither fun nor profit. I imagine the pace will feel like it's picking up any day now, holidays and holiday shopping and the wedding and turning thirty and either the settling of light's job, or the moment of decision where we acknowledge it's time to move, dental surgery, a new bed frame, and half of me wants to capture these moments of almost-boredom, varnish them with nailpolish like shells found on the beach and half of me wants to move past them to the next thing. i'm not restless enough to want to do something, i like my comfort, my jar of cumin, my cathair tumbleweeds, strange dreams of housekeeping matters that turn into real sleepy middleofthenight sex, i'm not interested in rocking this boat, and i'm not sure if the halfdesire to tip the whole thing over comes from some societal impulse of presumed dissatisfaction, that if i'm not wanting for anything i must be wrong somehow, or something more personal, a history of depression rebelling against a present of comfortableness. or the underpinnings of a protestant life, being told so many time that 'being smart' was the only thing of merit i had going for me, my fancy diploma curled and yellowing in a drawer somewhere, that a life that doesn't include additional degrees or the culture of academia feels like an illegitimate escape.

maybe the causes of this aren't to be ferreted out, and i only need to try and discard the resulting mood over and over again until the rejection sticks. all unexplored grass is greener, all grapes are sour except the ones currently possessed, but i'm happy against all odds and intend to teach myself to cherish that for all it is worth, and i'm learning.

in other news, it looks like i'll be home tomorrow night, and home alone for all of friday, since Light has first game and then has to go into work. and i'm so hideously spoiled by the fact that he works from home on most federal holidays that i'm actually a little bit (lot) upset that i'll be home alone. Here's hoping the Rome plans pan out. Or maybe I'll make the sweet potato pie thursday or friday instead of tonight. (i'm test driving desserts for thanksgiving that aren't apple pie)

off to the farm, now.