Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Notable happinesses of the past couple of days:
1. Sushi on boats, and plans for an imminent rubber-duck-pirate invasion. Qua-yarr. Yarrack? Shiver me tailfeathers.
2. Movies about magic (one of the most magical aspects of which being a pair of mysteriously expanding mammaries), and sneaking into Jackass: Number Two again because the last time we snuck in we only got to the Firehose Rodeo, and this time we got all the way up to the Anaconda Ball Pit.
3. Bear's first "real" haunted house, plus a corn maze, a mountain of hay, some amourous rabbits making scandalous use of the petting zoo enclosure, too much shaved ice, people running after us with chainsaws, and Dale (photos of the latter fellow to follow.)
Friday, October 20, 2006
your face is a map of the world
I wrote this first bit last week, ploddingly stabbing the keypad of my Treo, but haven't gotten round to posting it until today.
It's been a hell of a week.
In my dreams last night, we were alone on a great big plane.
There was a shiver and a pop, and the cabin lost pressure in a terrifying rush. All the oxygen masks popped out of the ceiling - an orange forest of plastic cups and tubes filling the cabin.
In the midst of the screaming wind and flickering emergency lights and beastly shivering of the injured plane, you sat still and silent.
I had to do something. I kept pressing mask after mask to your face, into your hands. I must have tried dozens as the orange plastic morass around us tangled and twisted in the rush of disappearing air, catching on my arms and in my hair, clammy as they pressed against my skin.
You just locked your sad eyes to mine.
I remembered just before everything went black that I hadn't taken one myself.
So I'm a little unnerved by the turbulence on this plane I'm currently riding to see my sweet sister married off in the wilderness outside Boston. I have more than the typical amount of dream-to-conscious bleedover, and besides - I've slept so little in the past several days that everything is starting to feel a little stagey. Early call times, long prep days, longer wrap days, and sleepless, worrying nights have left me longing for that point when a quiet moment is just a quiet moment and not a silent one.
This is an enormous effort, keeping on top of everything that's happening to me, and to you. There's just so much to process.
Your reassurance is all I've got; your hands on my face are my very last line of defense against...well, pretty much everything.
I have never needed anything as much as I need what you and I have built together.
Today, waiting for your return...just don't leave me here.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
that compulsory last hurrah
There are some things with which my comfort level is just really, really low, no matter how the logic works, and I hate the act of tamping out thought after thought like acrid cigarette nubs. Don'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutit.
And y'know what? I wouldn't mind a crowded bar and frenzied socializing, myself.
Or maybe I'm just...meh.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
My feet are in agony, my hands rubbed rough by leather and wood.
I've spent the day tromping back and forth through the barn, my ears full of mutterings and hoof on hardpack and the occasional stuttering whinny of startle or disgruntlement, my nose full of hay smells.
The rain touched us lightly - just enough to set a gentle rhythm on the metal roof and calm the stirrings of dust around the hooves of the horses as they ambled to their classes and back in again.
I taught a tack class. I learned how to treat cracked hooves and girth sores. I helped run interference for a birthday party full of squealing, grabby munchkins. I pressed my cheek to several outstretched necks. I doled out sugar cube after sugar cube, marveling at the agility of those funny, muscley lips, and tickled the tender-soft chins underneath.
I watched riders spin around the ring on a cushion of air and confidence, and marveled that I have so much left to learn.
I hope I have time for some of it. I'm watching my hourglass, nailed firmly to the table, as it shuffles the sand neatly along.