Grateful to be here.

...

Merry Christmas, you wonderful ole reason to live!

Christamas Carol Roundup-as in round them up and shoot them dead...

I thought today would never come!

Now just counting down the hours till I am FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Would that it were for good, and not just a week.

Sigh.

So I thought I'd mention that while I ADORE Christmas songs and am one of those sickos that eagerly awaits the radio stations that begin pumping out the carols WELL before it is at all appropriate to do so, yes, there are, nevertheless, certain Christmas songs that I absolutely abhor! 

They are as follows:

Elvis Presley singing Blue Christmas.  Holy hell.  I want to punch him right in his pretty lips and his bedroom eyes when I hear that hillbilly/bluesy shlock.

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in their rendition of Santa Claus is Coming' to Town.  Seriously fills me with enough rage to strangle a puppy.  Can't say precisely what it is, but good grief it makes me postal.  The fact that it is live SHOULD go a long way toward humanizing the man, but he just sounds so fucking smug and full of himself.  Every time I hear him chuckle I have a visceral reaction akin to blinding rage...

Travellin Strawberries-- Long Time Ago in Bethlehem.  Ok.  Maybe it is because I cherish Bing Crosby-esque Christmas with an It's a Wonderful Life sort of aesthetic, but something about this hip, saccarine, happy happy yet religiously saturated Christmas song makes me want to vomit sugar and sparkles.  On certain days I will actually catch myself boppin around to the infectious beat when it comes on the radio-- those are the days where I worry about my mental stability.  Because, apart from some lovely harmony in the opening section of the song, this song is a disgusting overly sentimental chipperly christian anthem that makes my skin crawl and my teeth grind together in an instinctive distrust for the falsely bright carolers who are forcing their christian joy down my throat with glee.  And their vaguely ethnic accents are supposed to-what?--make me feel guilty about my priveleged white american lifestyle?  No thank you.  i reject the premise entirely.
but dammit if that ain't a catchy beat...

Speaking of shoving sentimentality down my throat:  I DESPISE all those modern super-sad and supposedly poignant Christmas songs that are intended to evoke in my a feeling of bittersweet sympathy.  They miss the mark utterly.  What they evoke in me is rage and scorn.  I'm talking about things like 'the Christmas shoes' and "Merry Christmas Darlin'"and shit like that.  I can't even tell you all of them because i stoutly refuse to give them a listen when the radio station peppers them in among the REAL Christmas songs.  Gross gross grossy grosserson mcgrosspants.  if i want to ACTUALLY tear up, if I want to REALLY experience a nostalgic, bittersweet longing for the days when Christmas was simple and pure i will listen to Ms. Garland singing 'Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas" or perhaps a nice simple version of "I'll be home for Christmas", or a very traditional version of "The Little Drummer Boy" (makes me weep like a bitch!)

It's Christmas (baby please come home).  Sung by various artists with little variation and no improvement.  The parenthetical should be a good indication that this song will suck big time.  Theres even a version of Bono (not even sure if it is all members of U2.  I think Larry Mullen may have taken one look at this shitcake and declared: 'bloodyfuck, no.") but not even my favorite living artist could imbue this travesty with any semblance of redeeming qualities.  It think it is supposed to be pop/Blues?  I don't know about that.  It sounds like drivel to me.  And is it Mariah Carey who sings the most popular one?  Gag me.  I don't need your vocal olympics and your masturbatory runs for christmas, thanks.


Speaking of masturbatory.  ANYTHING BY JOSH GROBIN AND MICHAEL BUBLE.  And a fair chunk of sinatra too.  Good Christ.  "But they have such great voices!"  you will exclaim.  And I cannot argue on that point.  yes.  they do.  they have very lovely voices.  And I feel absolutley NOTHING when they commence to singing, because itis almost as if I can hear their inner monologue:  "Yeah...I asound sooo good.  Listen to how incredibly talented I am with my golden voice.  I am so incredibly talented..."  ets.  I also imagine that Sinatra's internal monologue goes on to mention how much pussy he'll be getting later and occasionally wondering when his assistant will be popping itno the studio to refill his scotch.  As a musical theatre performer and lover, I really can't abide talented singers who have no connection to what they're singing.  With these gentlemen I get the impression that they'd sound exactly the same and give the same dead-hearted performance if someone switched the words of 'oh holy night' to 'oh moley flight'.  They are robots programmed to sound melifluous (or croonery-cool), and look good while doing it.  i say to thee:  Meh.  I'd rather listen to those perky fucking strawberries.

Any 'cute' or 'clever' version of the twelve days of chritsmas.  ESPECIALLY the one with the lady who gets sloshed while singing about all the booze.  One hearing only.  Seriously.  These have ZERO replay value.  NONE.  One time through and you might have earned a mild chuckle, a nod of vague appreciation for your effort, and that's about all you can expect for one of those gems.  PLEASE, i'm really begging for my sanity here, and for the lives of others around me, PLEASE don't replay these abominations over and over and over.  Especially the ones that get so wrapped up in their cleverness that they aren't even tuneful anymore.  I don't need to listen to the man and his damned christmas lights over and over and over!  

 
And, last, but absolutely not in any way least, the song that I hated so much that I have actually begun to love in a bizarre way; the song that I never ever ever fail to hear whenever I am (and I mean absolutely WHENEVER) out driving between thanksgiving and Christmas:  DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRITMAS - Band Aid.
I mean sweet bleeding jesus.  Really?!  Like, which of these artists sat down and said:  Oh, I have a great idea for a christmas song!  and then preceeded to include lyrics like:  The only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears??  Oh, and let's not forget my personal fave:  And the christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom.  The clanging chimes of doom?!?!?!

Well tonight thank god it's them instead of you! (oh Bono.  I love you.  I really do... sigh...)

Talk about hitting us over the noggin with white guilt, eh?  It is so, so, so awful.  And it isn't even a good song!  All that talent in one room and it really just isn't a particularly well done piece of music!  i blame sting.  Mostly because I'd like to blame Sting for most things.  But really, as a fundraising tool?  I think they might have, as my mother always tells me, they might have caught more flies with honey than with that awful vinegar of righteous indignation, finger-pointing, and guilt tripping so extreme it even made jewish mothers crings and avert their eyes.  i mean sweet mary!  instead of inspiring a generation, you really just made us roll our collective eyes and groan.  The greatest gift they'll get this year is life?  Ok, well, good.  No need for me to send anything then, right?  Give it up, Sting!  i know it giot record numbers and all, but...really?!?  really.

But the funny thing that's happened with that song, is that it is so spectaculary awful, that it is now kitschy!  And is a pretty ridiculously fun time if you sing along at full volume with a friend as though you were singing something perky and whimsical like jingle bells or the most wonderful time of the year!  I urge you to try this.  It makes you feel a lot less homicidal!



So that's my big list.  I'm also not a fan of anyone who slows a christmas song down to a crawl for no apparent reason.  I mean, if it was already a sort of slow song like "oh holy night' or 'silent night' or whatever, do we really need to do it even slower?  And then, if it was a peppy song, was there a aprticular statement you intended to make by pulling it back like that?  I just don't see any deep or resonant message in a slow-dance version of 'rockin around the christmas tree' or 'rudolph the red nosed reindeer'.  I just feel a pressing impatience for you to pick up the tempo already!

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate.  And may I say that the few hannuak songs I know (aside from the dreidel song) are enchantingly and hauntingly beautiful, and I'd love to hear more.

BTW, my Dunk donuts crush was wearing a little headband with mistletoe.  Oh you perky, sweet little tease, how I love thee!

The Bright Side...

O.......
M.......
G......

!   !   !   !   !   !   !   !   !   !   !

It is getting so close I can taste it.

And it is gunna taste sooooooooooooooooooo sweet.

Speaking of sweet-- the hubs promised me an orgasm a night for this entire week.  He's turning out to be a little more like that 12 days of christmas song though:  One the first night, missed a night so then FIVE golden rings of shuddering pleasure on the third night, then already this morning I was treated to two more delightful little deaths...

Sigh.  Happy girl.  Looking forward to more pleasure this eve!

One more english class today and a drama class and then I'm off and then ONE MORE MUTHAFUCKING DAY!

Jimminy Christmas am I getting amped!

Also, have i mentioned that I swoon over anything Bing Crosby?  My standard pandora station is "Bing Crosby Radio".  The more popular pandora radio station is "Bing Crosby Holiday", which is waht I've been tuning into each morning here.  Bing, Louis, Ella, Frank, Deano, Sammy, Fred, The Great Durante, Judy,  ahhhhhh, how I love them all!

   The only thing I'm not super psyched about is having to do last minute shopping when my paycheck comes in on friday.  Eeeeek.  I'm no good with crowded shoppping places, but a friday paycheck means no way to avoid it.  Hopefully I don't go postal with consumer rage.

The wisdom of the husband

"I told you so" might as well be on Aaron's official coat of arms.

Not that he ever says it like that, precisely.  Usually it is more of a: "See?!  I knew it!"

Yes, folks, I married a perfect genius.  I mean that in all sincerity, not being facetious.  He is pretty fucking brilliant.  He has this knack with people; this uncanny ability to understand people and situations and motivations and... he's fucking perfect.

What I'm getting at is that he was right;  He was right-on-the-money that I should speak directly to my boss in a completely open and honest way.

I really think it cleared the air.  I left feeling practically fucking bouyant (especially compared to how leaden and doomed I felt before the meeting!).

And three more days till break?  no problem.

Well, excepting this fucking sore throat that cropped up out of fucking nowhere!  I chugged airborne when I first felt the tickle of it yeaterday, but to no avail.  Fiery, sore, scratcing, raw agony.

I am a bit over-dramatic about sore throats.  Have I ever mentioned that before?  Total baby.  Complete drama queen.  I wandered around the apartment this morning whimpering pitifully, like a two-year-old who needs a cuddle and a nap.  Aaron was about as sympathetic and kind as a half-asleep man can be when his adult wife is behaving like a whine-bag.  I adore him.  And tonight he will be roped into making me teas and soups :)

Meanwhile, to get through the day I have taken Tylenol Sore Throat Liquid (no better product on the market--take it from this drama queen), as well as a dose of the ALEVE D for all the other issues (leaking, running, pressure, etc.,)  ALEVE D is so fucking powerful for an OTC that you actually have to ask for it by name at the pharmacy counter and produce an ID. 

I debated the wisdom of mixing my meds, but ALEVE doesn't have acetaminiphin (sp?) and Tyleno doesn't have NSAIDs (whatever the fuck those are)-- so hopefully I'll be free of stomach bleeding and whatnot.

If not, well, that's a legit excuse to miss work, right?  Sorry, can't come in today, got the old stomach bleeding---yeah, it's going around this time of year...

So anyway.  Not all of my problems are solved, not by a long shot, but I at least feel secure in the knowledge that they do not want to fire me!

Now forward march to the holiday break!

The pinky promise.

So Aaron convinced me to talk to my principal.  "keep the lines of communication open" he said.  "be honest."  he said.

He was really convincing, and had brought me 'round to his way of thinking after a good long talk, and subsequently made me pinky promise.

So i sent her an e-mail.  As i pinky-swore I would do.

And we have a meeting this afternoon.

No I am freaking the fuck out about it.

Why had i ever imagines it would be a good idea??  She is a tough, no-nonsense type of person, and I can imagine me putting my foot in my mouth a hundred different catastrophic ways. 

She is going to hate me.

This was the worst idea ever.  I really don't think I can do it.  I'm going to look like a whiny pussy who can't handle her job.  I'll look like that because that is pretty much what I am.

Somehow, when Aaron framed it, it all seemed so smart, so pro-active, so professional.

but I have this forboding feeling that when I go down there it will come off as me making excuses, me looking like a fucking moron, me being pathetic and gross.

Not to mention that I caused a big to-do this morning by asking to have my kids skip specialists to complete their unit exams.  Jesus.  I followed the advice of my co-teachers and it landed me in some pretty hot water, and I am not the principal's favorite individual right now.  So this won't be stressful, akward, or awful at all.

Kill me.

My heart is clenching and choking in my chest right now.  I honestly don't know what I'm going to do, or say.  holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck.

I hate this so much.

Please let my heart burst in my chest!

Fragility Personified.

Phoning. It. The fuck. In.

Kids are finishing an exam today so I was allowed to sort of zombie through the day.  Tomorrow will be a different story. and after that.  This is going to be a hell of a long week.

Nearly left my husband last night.

Among other things.

Still here.

And morover, still HERE.  at this job.  In this skin. 

Ok.  Enough.  Or I will start crying in front of eighth graders. 

TLDR

So I'm having major problems, and the worst, the stupidest thing in the world is to whine and cry about them on a blog, I realize this; but I honestly don't like the alternatives right now.

Yes-- I am actually paying for therapy once a week, but no I don't feel like airing my issues there right now.

Yes-- I have an incredibly supportive and wonderful husband who listens, offers wisdom, and a shoulder to cry on; and NO I definitely don't feel like airing my issues with him at present.

Yes--I have a mother and dear friends who would likely be willing to listen, to give advice, to be there as comfort and support.

But I am so so so so so very very sick of airing my burdens to friends, loved ones, and even the fucking therapist, that I think I just need to try some of it out here. 

In solitude.

In the white-blue hum and glow of the internet.

I am crippled with depression.  Ok?  I said it.  It is beginning to look like going off those chemicals was maybe not the smartest.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I think I made a prudent decision, but look;  it isn't working.  I am not well.

Do other people, normal people I mean, do other people think about suicide hourly?  I doubt it.  And yet it feels so completely second nature that it is hard to believe other people don't live like this...

You have no idea how much I despise myself for the thoughts.  For the feelings, the impulses.  I don't like weakness in others and have trouble tolerating any in myself.  And yet.

So it looks like I may be trying to schedule something to get on birth control, because I really don't think that will be happening in my life.  "Not any time soon" Aaron is in the habit of saying.  Well, if not soon then when?  Likely never.  So fine.  Pump my body full of hormones.  Then add on top of that all the chemicals to fool my brain into thinking everything is ok.

Just to get through the days.  Of the career I chose and hate.  Of the bills I racked up and now am indentured to.  Of the hole I dug myself into from which there is no staircase, no rope, no ladder, and no tunnel out from.  Look at all the prepositions ending those sentences unabashedly.

I want out.  Reasons to stay are dwindling.

I feel guilty every single minute.  The guilt and the shame is heavy.  Crushing.  Paralyzing.

I don't deserve the man that has been infinitely patient and kind--not just these past two days, but always.  He tells me he loves me and all I feel is guilt.  He asks how he can help and all I feel is grief.

I woke up hating today.  Sundays are forfeit for me lately because they are harbingers of mondays.  I waste the day in a funk because all I can think about is the pending workweek.

Dread.

Misery.

And then I feel guilty about complaining about having a job that is (almost) paying the bills.  A job I fought for tooth and nail.  A job I can't give up and AT WHICH I need to get better (grammar fairy is pleased).

Guilt guilt guilt, shame shame shame, and then apathy.  Because feeling this much pain cannot be endured for long without going insane or giving up.  I wish I could go insane.  Instead I shrug,  And tend toward cold, miserable apathy.  Self destructive, relationship-killing, job-forfeiting apathy.

God, this is bleak.

My therapist will tell me to get a new job.  She is sweet, and I suppose from the outside it looks that simple.  But in the real world of debt and responsibility we all know that it isn't that easy-- is it?

I don't want to let Aaron down.  He would never let me down.

But I wonder if the band-aid ripping suddenness, the fast & quick, would, in the long-run, be the better option that the slow, painful, drawn-out miser and descent into this awful pit that I am putting him through now.

And has anyone seen that show Once upon a time on like ABC?  Christ.  And I'm not a writer for a living?  seriously?  My fault, I know.  My choices, my lot in life.  My insec urities, my failures.

But really?

Whatever.

(apathy)

A few words about family.

Aaron's observation:

"I've never met anyone more awkward around their own family..."

Family party today.

Waste of fucking time.

I don't think I actually believe too much in family; not in the way we're taught to do.  I believe in choosing those dear to you.  I choose my sisters (but only barely), I choose my brother and sister-in-law; I still choose my parents-- but beyond that?  No thanks.  I see you all once a year and I'm expected to feel something?

I choose my dear friends and consider them family.  I consider Aaron's grandmother family--but none of the rest of them (well, I suppose Eric, despite how all that ridiculous shit went down when he lived here with us...)

Forget the rest of them.  I wish them no ill will, but I feel nothing for them; no stirrings of kinship; no well of emotion or bond.

Best. Morning. In a while.

Sick Day ;)

Tired.  Bone tired.  Weary.  Drained.  Tapped.  Over it.

Helping a sweet, sweet kid prepare for some audition she has on staurday in boston.

She is a doll.  I am being helpful.

But it only serves to reinforce how completely over that industry I am.

And I have this drama class that I teach in the afternoons, last period.  I am sooo over it.

The things a middle school teacher can do...

Whoops!

Been a few days since my last post.  My pornographic one :)

I am practically counting the minutes till vacation.

Boy oh boy oh boy oh.

Tomorrow is wednesday.  Insightful, I know.  But that's what teaching does to a person.  My brain is mushifying daily.

Next week I may or may not be able to name the days of the week.  But I certainly COULD remind you to walk in the halls, not run; remind you to please take the pass if you are leaving the room; Remind you that there's no food or drink except in the cafeteria; and tell you in forty different ways to be quiet, stop talking, turn around, focus on your work, stop tipping in your chair, stay on task, and wake up.


So.  I've got that going for me.

PORN!

The internet is for porn.  Or so says one of my favorite broadway songs of the last two decades.

Yes.  It is.  It is for porn, porn, porn!

So you may have gathered that it has been a long, long, looooonnnnng miserable awful no good terrible horrible no good very bad week for me.

Earlier in the week I came home and rewarded myself for surviving the day by givining myself many orgasms.

Yesterday I came home and rewarded myself by indulging in several good hours of video gaming.

Today I came home and the whim to troll tumblr sites gripped me.  I have rewarded myself with some intriguing pornographic imagery.

It varies, depending on the day, what will get my motor humming.   Many days it is threesomes or moresomes.  I love the idea of multiple people all engaged in giving and receiving pleasure.  Some days I can't get enough of fellatio.  Suck it, bitch!  Yeah, suck that big hard cock!  Still other days I am tantalized by the oh-so-innocent but clearly not-so-innocent school girl thing.  And I have a real weak-in-the-knees thing for men dressed in full business attire roughly handling nude submissive women.  Whoa.  Makes me hotter than hell.

But today?  today the thing that's been ringing my chimes?  Cunnilingus and knowledge. I LOVE viewing images of women getting eaten out. Worshipped.  Paid tribute.  Today I can't get enough of it.  Men, women, doesn't matter.  There is someething so very alluring and seductive about watching a woman taking pleasure in someone kissing and licking and pleasuring her between her legs.

I won't share all the images that have caught my image this evening, but I will share a few...

Um... Not work safe--did I have to mention that when I'd entitled the blog "Porn!"?

bon apetit!


Ok, so lets first look at images that are absolutely not explicitly pornographic--in that they don't actually show anything!  But they imply EVERYTHING.  I adore images like this.  A woman's imagination, they say, is her biggest and most powerful erogenous zone...

I fucking ADORE this one.

Tantalizing

Women dressed in full male business attire is NOT one of my turnons, as it reminds me of Dianne Keaton, but I rather enjoy the gentleman burying his nose in her femininity...

 Ok.  Now, for fun, let's look at illustrated carpet munching!

What a lithe and obedient houseboy!

Isn't the discarded lollipop in the foreground just a delicious touch?

Old-timey girl-on-girl!  I heart this!  Stay classy, turn of the century lesbians!

This one cracks me right the fuck up!  She was going to commit suicide, and was literally saved by oral sex! 

Heyyyy, how's this ode to cock get in here?  It earned its way to honorable mention for being ridiculously amusing, that's how!  I feel like some guy was sitting arund doodling one day and his pen birthed this insanity..,

Ok.  Lets take a look at some slightly more exposed stuff.  I'm opting NOT to show some full-on graphic shots of pussy here or the more intense cunnelingus because I don't need to nbe an oversharer (lol) but anyway... YUM.....

And lastly, I'm on this 'knowledge' is sexy thing.  Sounds lame, I know.  I don't entirely get it either, but ours is not to reason why.  Check out these adorable images and maybe you'll get me....

"We're reading a book...together...in a state of semi-undress...isn't that scrumptious of us?"

You nknow I love me some pin-up lookin girls.  And this one's got a brain! maybe...

And of course.  The apple.  From the tree of knowledge.  Sigh.  Note how this one doesn't even show anything explicit!!And yet so fucking erotic.

And my sentimental fave.  Geeks beware:  she's curvy, she's pale, she's a starwars nerd and an old-school gamer.  If I were a guy, I'd have come in my pants.

And are those boyshorts?!?! A-fucking-dorable!

Holy hell.  I thought this day would never come.  Really truly.  Holy god. 

holy moly.

ho.

phew.

When i think about you I...

So...

yesterday, inspired by my early-morning nocturnal emission, i decided to leave work earlier than usual (I trypically stay until 6pm), head home and specnd a little time racking up some O's.

What a lovely way to spend an afternoon.

It was as if my body was primed and ready to go after that episode in the AM, because achieving the first one took no time at all, and the subsequent ones were just as simple.  It felt good to indulge!

and boy am I glad I took matters into my own hands rather than waiting for Aaron to get home, because as it turns out the monthly visitor arrived just as he was getting home, so Id've been thwarted had i waited for his expertise.


so.  Sigh of ease.  Brought myself to orgasm a good five or six times before deciding I was plenty pleasured and took a much-needed nap.

So now I don't mind the period so much.

Oh, well, plus I woke aaron up in the middle of the night last night for some serious Anal fucking.  So, came again there.  yay all around to that aspect of my life.

The work front?  Sheesh.  let's just say I realllllllly fucking needed those orgasms.  Orgasms or suicide.  Like Eddie Izzard's cake-or-death.  Ummmm cake please.

Also, on the financial front I am pretty well fucked.  i am broke till friday and bills to pay.  jesus.  How can I be making practically double what I was making last year and still be so financially strapped?  Mo' mone mo' problems, right?

And christmas looming.  I just don't know.

there is really no concievable way for me to juggle another job, not at the rate I'm going.  I'll burn out before june.  Nope.  What I need is some way to reduce the debt.

run away to india and disappear?

we'll see.

hitting students when they misbehave doesn't sound a bad as it once did... j/k...or am I?

Talk about the power of positive thinking!

I decided to sleep in a little this morning. 

I usually wake up pretty early, crawl out of bed, stagger around with a glower, take my pills (if I can remember) and trundle off to work-- aiming to arrive just as the janitor unlocks the building at 6:30 am.

This morning, instead of getting up super early, I cuddled up next to my husband and stole some extra warm, languid sleep.

I was rewarded for this decision with what can only be described as the female equivalent of a male's wet dream.

The dream was highly realistic, borrowing from my present circumstances (feeling my husband's warmth and ... well... you get the idea... pressed to my back), and in the dream instead of lying there I mounted it and rode it to bliss.

And I actually came.  From IMAGINING a cock inside me.  From dreaming about clitoral + g-spot stimulation.  I fucking orgasmed in my state of half-sleep/half-waking.  Moaning, whimpering, breathless. 
It woke Aaron up and subsequently woke me up, the wonderment of feeling my femininity snapping and pulsing.

It was wonderful.

Not a bad way to start a morning.

I then cuddled with the hubby a while more and wished we didn't have to go anywhere, or do anything more than relish the soft, tenuous early morning gift I'd been given.

But here I am at work. 

Far, far away from orgasmville.

And only tuesday-- so far from the blessed and cherished weekend.

but i give myself a ghost of a smile when I think about that strange and wonderful little happening this moring, beneath the sheets, between layers of consciousness.

Subsistance, Sorrow, and Sensibility

 If Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolfe had written about Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy?

Survived another week.  By the skin of my teeth. 

Three more till christmas break.

Tick tock tick tock tick

They tell me that if a new teacher makes it to Christmas break that she'll make it the whole year.

Meanwhile I'm looking into pie-in-the-sky ideas.  Googling the hell out of jobs in other industries, researching online degree programs, yearning for a life spent doing what I want to do when I want to do it and how I want to do it and getting paid handsomely for it.

Aaron, a pragmatist, tells me as gently as possible that there is no such thing.  Fantasy.  Myth.  Fiction.  He isn't saying it in a soul-crushing way.  He's being really kind, and very careful about it, but essentially he's helping me step out of my little-girl dreams and into the reality of adulthood.

But he is ever supportive.  Steadfastly supportive.  And encouraging.

And he is also trying to help me work through the trauma of working for a living.  He's been working jobs since high school.  And he's great at working.  He's really good at wading through the bullshit, at being agreeable, at not taking things personally, and getting through the day.

His advice is to "find all the things you DO like about your job; focus on them."  He maintains that if I continue to get worked up about the other stuff, continue to stress and focus on the negative, that I will go insane.

And I can't quit this job.

And I can't check-out.

So I'd better find some way to manage.  To get by. 

And actually get good enough at my job so that they don't fire me before I can make arrangements for my next (to be failed) career venture.

The problem with wanting out of this job?  It pretty much seals the deal on the whole kids debate.  If I don't have a steady job and steady income there will be NO CHILDREN.  That's just the way it is. 

Sigh.

It is shaping up to be another season of everyone-around-me-is-having-a-baby.  Cousins, sisters, co-workers. 

New baby a week a month ago, another a week or so ago, another baby due this week, and then both my sister and sister in law are due in the spring/early summer.

Happy for them all around.

And I love watching my baby nieces getting older.  Zoe, Natalie, Maggie, Sophia.  And my grown up neices and nephews too! 

But there's something inexpressibly melancholy about being an aunt.  I didnt want to think so.  I didn't want to believe that. But there it is.  A separate, spare quality. 


It is sunday.  And sundays hurt because monday is coming. 

But waking up this sunday morning warm and cozy, loved and languid; having my dearest wish come true never gets old, never grows stale, never disappoints.  I love falling asleep in his arms every night, and waking up beside him every morning.  It was what I prayed for, wished for, and worked for  for YEARS.  And having it, it becomes more dear, never less so.

I'm a lucky, lucky woman.

Despite all my bitching and moaning.

what the fuck was I thinking?

Is there another word for bittersweet?

Ever miss the sound of someone's voice?  I mean really miss it?

I'm not sure why, but I have been trapped in memory lane lately.  The bittersweet pull of nostalgia.  Confronting those haunting but useless questions... the 'what if's and the 'why's.

I'm honestly not sure why I've been strolling that lane as of late.  Wandering wistfully, ruminating ad remembering.

My head knows better.  I remind myself that everything unfolds just as it was destined to unfold, and that I would be better served forgetting this nonsense.  Locking it up in the deeper recesses of the hall of records.  Kiss it goodbye and never go looking for it again.  It is the arc of the covenant in that military warehouse.  File it and forget it.  And fuck it!

Yet still my thoughts seem to wander.

And still I sigh, every now an again. 

And look those 'what if's square in the face.

And stare down those 'why's, unable to blink, unable to back away.

Reminds me of music.  Reminds me of song.  These feelings too deep, and broad, and full for the written, for the spoken.  This mysterious pull that lures me with the reminiscences of that voice.  Always surprising--never exactly as I thought it was, or remembered it... 

And so I muddle through, through the motions, through the routine.  I continue on as if it is healed, pretending i don't know it is infected. 

Last time I got like this I picked the scab.

 just to feel the slightest ghost of what was.  To hear that voice.

Not this time.

What would be the point?

And naturally I torture myself with the tantalizing question:  do they ever feel this way?  Do they ever pause and remember and long and sigh?  Do the what ifs and the whys tug at their hem?  Pull at their heartstrings, pervade their consciousness fromn time to time?

Oh, vanity.  Oh, pride.

Reminds me of an exchange from one of my favorite plays.

"You never write"


"Because I thought you'd never answer."


"...I've spent every night walking every street in hell."


"That's odd; I never saw you there."