Holiday Smarm
The holiday season makes me feel free, restless, moody and paranoid all at the same time. Every year.
Buzzing brain. I’ve been high-speed for the past two days. Yesterday I cleaned, mopped (which is separate from just cleaning), did mine and Mark’s laundry, hand-washed six of my sweaters that had been sitting dirtily aside for months (which is separate and much more grueling than just doing laundry), and hand-made some little books to give to my family for Christmas.
Now I have only one book to make and to write the text in each of them, a poem of mine spread out through each. For this I had to be selective, considering my family doesn’t really "get" my poems and, frankly, it’s probably better they don’t. There is one, however, that my mom gets—it even made her cry. This one goes in her book. There is another that mentions my having bad thoughts about my family on occasion, which hopefully won’t seem as important to my aunt as the rest of the poem when she receives her book. There are pros and cons in every relationship.
My friend Lauren, whose dog sank his teeth into my hand a week ago, has been teaching me how to make books: ripping the paper to size, placing the pieces into signatures, sewing the signatures together. We didn’t have a chance to do my lesson on making covers before she left for mighty Egypt, so she gave me some bookboard and a quick summary. After six hours yesterday with glue, thread, and utility knife (the very knife Mark gave me when I worked in the back room at Borders), the little things look pretty good. Hopefully they didn’t stick to any surfaces while drying overnight. Hopefully when I go home tonight Christmas won’t have been ruined.
Suddenly I really want to go home. My dog-bite hand hurts. I still like the vicodin, and want some now. I think it’s rather that I have an obsessive personality than an addictive one. When I get bored with Ye Olde V, I’ll find something else to think about insect-like all day every day. Suddenly I’ve become abstractly self-reflective and grim. I have been eating leftover pad thai off and on for almost three hours, chopsticks in my nostrils.
Hey, is that Rudolph in your ass or were you in the shower too long? Silver bells, silver bells...
Buzzing brain. I’ve been high-speed for the past two days. Yesterday I cleaned, mopped (which is separate from just cleaning), did mine and Mark’s laundry, hand-washed six of my sweaters that had been sitting dirtily aside for months (which is separate and much more grueling than just doing laundry), and hand-made some little books to give to my family for Christmas.
Now I have only one book to make and to write the text in each of them, a poem of mine spread out through each. For this I had to be selective, considering my family doesn’t really "get" my poems and, frankly, it’s probably better they don’t. There is one, however, that my mom gets—it even made her cry. This one goes in her book. There is another that mentions my having bad thoughts about my family on occasion, which hopefully won’t seem as important to my aunt as the rest of the poem when she receives her book. There are pros and cons in every relationship.
My friend Lauren, whose dog sank his teeth into my hand a week ago, has been teaching me how to make books: ripping the paper to size, placing the pieces into signatures, sewing the signatures together. We didn’t have a chance to do my lesson on making covers before she left for mighty Egypt, so she gave me some bookboard and a quick summary. After six hours yesterday with glue, thread, and utility knife (the very knife Mark gave me when I worked in the back room at Borders), the little things look pretty good. Hopefully they didn’t stick to any surfaces while drying overnight. Hopefully when I go home tonight Christmas won’t have been ruined.
Suddenly I really want to go home. My dog-bite hand hurts. I still like the vicodin, and want some now. I think it’s rather that I have an obsessive personality than an addictive one. When I get bored with Ye Olde V, I’ll find something else to think about insect-like all day every day. Suddenly I’ve become abstractly self-reflective and grim. I have been eating leftover pad thai off and on for almost three hours, chopsticks in my nostrils.
Hey, is that Rudolph in your ass or were you in the shower too long? Silver bells, silver bells...
1 Comments:
both...rudolph and showers...
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