friskin

Work today. Jan encourages me to sit around and look pretty, but I find that filing for six hours straight actually isn't that bad. In a way, I feel like all the bending and stretching I did makes up for not exercising these past couple weeks. Add that to the list of things I miss about being at school. It's fun at the office. I think they think I'm more uncomfortable than I actually am. I'm really laughing on the inside, though.

Today's lunchtime conversation included:
Would you date a...
...person with a prosthetic leg?
...midget or dwarf?
...person who is morbidly obese? (How morbidly obese?) (More than 400 pounds.)

These are the kids I hung out with in highschool.

Tammy's dad came to eat with us. He relayed a story about how when he was nineteen he was in the middle of "hooking up" with a chick when he noticed her hairy legs and her hairy chest and her hairy face. And he "kept going." He wouldn't devulge many more details because we were in "mixed company," a.k.a. Innocent Little Ol' Me. Kind of ironic, considering that out of all of them, I'm the craziest collegiest crazy college kid. I guess that doesn't matter when you're constantly being looked at as someone's daughter. Not that I mind that much. I'm good at playing the roles I'm placed in.

skye yes 681 (1:02:42 AM): thomas, I miss you so much.
skye yes 681 (1:02:53 AM): are you friends with the olsen twins yet?
fajita smuggler (1:03:16 AM): i miss you too!!!!
fajita smuggler (1:03:19 AM): and yes, we are bff
fajita smuggler (1:03:24 AM): in the sense that i've never seen them
skye yes 681 (1:03:37 AM): aw.... :(
fajita smuggler (1:03:44 AM): but i am good friends with billy joel's daughter
skye yes 681 (1:03:57 AM): that's awesome. is she hot?
fajita smuggler (1:04:02 AM): not really
fajita smuggler (1:04:06 AM): she looks like billy joel.

There's nothing I would rather do early Christmas Day than sort through shoeboxes full of old postcards and photographs. Here's one of my favorites of the former....

Front: Nott Memorial at Union College.

Back: [Typewritten]
Dear Mrs. Wellette,

We are now accepting ap-
plications for employment
in this fabulous new
structure which will be
ready for occupancy ?*%$#.
If you are interested in
long hours and small pay,
please contact the Campus
Bookstore not later than
September 3rd.

Mrs. Mookstore Banager

As for the photographs, I found a bunch from eleven or twelve years ago. I'm guessing the premise was Mom wanted to send out those home-made Christmas cards with pictures of the family all dressed nice and happy and normal looking. Fortunately for me, we're all horrible at posing for pictures (and whether that is on purpose or not is very questionable). The bulk of the photos are of me and Rachael wearing kind of matching outfits, standing in front of our Christmas tree. In many of them, Rachael's lovely, angellic baby face is distorted into some crude expression, and in the rest I'm staring straight up at the ceiling (why???) or off in a totally different direction, or my eyes are half closed, or one eye is open while the other is half closed. In my humble opinion they would make the awesomest Christmas cards ever. I decided, after laughing for a very long time at the silliness of it all, and at how frustrated Mom probably was at not getting back a single decent shot of the two of us (I think I was at least trying...), I left them out on the kitchen counter for the rest of the family to find in the morning. I'm glad I could rescue them, at least for a night, from their sad shoebox fate.

Sweet dreams, Reindears.

Christmas has reached this house a day early, it seems. Guests are chatting away downstairs. When they leave after dinner, we're opening presents. For now, I'm hiding in my room.

Today was kind of interesting. After some mildly embarassed last minute shopping, Mother took me to have my hair cut. Luckily, it wasn't as traumatizing as last time. Mrs. Bull (after fourteen years, I still can't bring myself to call her by her first name) did a nice job. Then we went to the bank. I am the proud(ish) owner of my very own checking account. Lot of good it will do me when I get back to Wisconsin. I should have gotten one out there months ago. Then a quick stop at the post office to send some last minute holiday greetings, and home to do some last minute wrapping.

Dinner time.

Unless my memory is playing tricks on me again, I think it's safe to say that my attempt at making Spanish-style hot cocoa has failed. I blame this on the fact that the recipe I found uses metric units. How am I supposed to know what 25g corn starch mixed dissolved in 120mL water looks like? Actually, though, the texture isn't really the problem. The problem is that the thick, hot, brown liquid congealing in my cup smells and tastes sickeningly sweet. It is oppressive and out of control. I might have to go out and dig a hole in the back yard to dispose of it.

What could I expect from such a rainy day? At least I tried.

Dream haunting.

I haven't done anything useful since I've been here. Mother thinks I've been having fun all day, but actually I couldn't be more numb most of the time. I feel pieces of me falling back into place. I think that's just dirty clothing accumulating on the floor. When I'm in this house I don't want to do anything at all. I can't hold my attention on any one task to see it all the way through. I know complaining about it won't help.

Movies I've seen (in part or in entirety): Death Becomes Her, Trekkies, Ocean's Eleven, Monty Python's The Meaning of Life, The Canterville Ghost, Run Lola Run.

People I've seen: Andrew, Dave, Le Anne, a few people at Peer Leadership. See what I mean about feeling numb?

But things are beginning to look up: Tonight Bruce took Rowan (ROWAN!!!!) and me to have Hanukah dinner (fried chicken, french toast, cheese burger) up at our old haunt, the Country View Diner. Rowan Magee is such a delightful pleasure to be around. If I had to create a list of people to give all of my kudos/good karma/benjamins/whatevers to, he would most definitely be right up there. I can't even explain why, after months of not seeing or hearing from him, he is still so dear to me. Maybe it's because I know that no matter what, no matter how much time passes, he will still smell like Rowan.

It is this consistancy that gives me hope. No matter where I find myself, at least something will be true.

Tomorrow's adventure: Troy High School, revisited.

Hello, lovely.

Troy is already giving me a tummy ache. Or maybe that's just the airport food I scarfed down because I was afraid I'd be late. The past couple times I've flown they've given me a "Departure Management Card" upon checking-in, rather than the trusty boarding pass I'm used to. It kind of stresses me out for some reason. Not that knowing which seat I'm in makes a difference two hourse before I actually get on the plane.

I was actually glad to see my family and my home. They've been making all these subtle changes that are already catching me off guard. There are new doors on all ofthe bedrooms, as well as the upstairs bathroom, and they changed most of the over head lighting so that it's on dimmer switches for when you're "in the mood (C. Dewing 5:15)." New thermostat, but my room still feels like an ice box. Must resist urge to make bad pun.

There was so much more I wanted to say, but I'm afraid there will be time fore that. Time to mend all the (god damn) mistakes I've made the past four months. Time to forget, as well.

Today I witnessed a vicious battle between cat and squirrel. I guess I stumbled upon it as it was coming to end. The squirrel had beaten the cat into submission. I need to get out of Beloit.

Happy Finals Week, everybody.

P.S. If you're wondering about how things are going with my non-boyfriend boy friend, well, so am I. Mistletoe is a wonderful idea, but it doesn't work. Again, I need to get out of Beloit.