dear february,

i kind of want to know who you think you are.  forcing yourself upon us, you short, napoleon-y month.  i dunno.  so far you have been a bear.  just a real pain.  and we've only just begun...

i've always liked you.  you aren't in like a lion or any of that stuff.  you're just small and quiet.  usually.  but this year you seem different.  you've weighed me down in eight short days.  left me feeling...tired.  last night i tried to shrug you off and did forty sit-ups.  i could have done forty more but i didn't.  you'd won again.

i wanted to call in sick today, but didn't.  i want to be excited about our trip at the end of this month to the tropics, but i can't.  i am all worry and pouting.  all stressful situations and no coping mechanisms.  february, have you drugged me?  i am just not myself...

if i were more like myself, i would buy bright tulips.  i would stare at them all day long and take digital macro pictures of them.  i would play with light.  i would smile.  i would be able to handle more than one thing at a time.  i would feel awake.  instead, i am reduced to a stick in the mud.

february, what are you trying to prove?  was my overwhelmingly positive january attitude just too much for you?  did i disgust you with my optimism?  you could have just said so...we could have talked this out.  i would have agreed to be a little less optimistic.  i can compromise just as well as the next person.

i even know how to pronounce your name correctly.  does this count for nothing?  shouldn't it cement our friendship?

oh, february...your silence causes me heartache.  speak to me.  love me once again...

*it's only a time and a face that you lose*

-stars

my first year of grad school was also my first year as a fiancee (my only year as a fiancee, in truth) was also my first year sharing a home with a boy.  i had a dreamy schedule that allowed a couple full work days as well as sleeping in, study time, and a pleasant class schedule.  oh how i long for that schedule these days...only without the need for study time or any sort of class schedule.  hm.  there were a couple mornings a week i would wake at my leisure, slowly, and i could scrape together whatever was due.  that's always been my style.  maybe that's why i still have school nightmares about showing up and something is due.  and i'd completely forgotten.  or i'd never known.  and it's stressful.  and all because i have never been one to prepare.  oh how i hate(d) essay writing...or is that what i'm doing now?

my first year of grad school i was taking a full load of classes, working, and planning our wedding.  there were times when it was dreamy.  times when i thought i'd lost my mind.  one time i took off my engagement ring and almost threw it at that man of mine because i was sick about arguing over our families.  sigh.  we have grown and changed a lot since then.  it's hard to be two people in a small space.  sometimes it really is.  i remember the first time we really got into an argument in our new little beach home and i felt stuck.  where could i go?  there was no more being able to drive across cities to be in our own rooms.  and yet, five years later, the handful of hours we get between work hours never seems enough.  our arguments are fewer.  less dramatic than to reduce us to ring-throwing.  an unhung towel doesn't seem as tragic as it did then.  a misplaced whatever warrants nothing.  at first the learning was hard.  now, i don't even notice it...

(today i so badly want to be home.  wearing pajamas and thick socks.  the heat humming on and off.  i know i appreciated my old schedule when it was new to me.  i know i did.  but it still seems like i'd taken it for granted.  to stroll into work at 12 and lunch and work and stroll home.  to have time for bike-rides mid-morning.  to lounge on the couch, sitting in the corner with a crossword puzzle and my cat boys nearby.  to gaze out the window through the bare tree branches at the gray sky.  rain is coming this weekend...)

in between our engagement and wedding, i think i endured the most challenging year of my life (to date).  a year holding so many transitions.  so many different lessons learned.  trying to somehow retain literary theory and make a home with someone just as stubborn as i was.  (am.)  trying to write essays without cringing while trying to find a venue both near the ocean and handicap accessible and with an outdoor area for our ceremony as well as a large reception area.  i gave up what i thought were dreams for a wedding covered in daisies and me in a simple dress with lace cap-sleeves.  i gave in to a sweetheart neckline and roses.  i was changing.

my first year of grad school...seems like a very long time ago...seems like a dream.  all of it.

sometimes it just takes a little something

to not take oneself too seriously.

to step back and be able to smile.

this week i'm tired and irritable (hl, that's one of those impossible-to-spell words for me!!) and easily annoyed.

i threatened my purse that i would burn it in a fire if it didn't cooperate.

my. purse.

oy.

such is life.  i believe it was the summer before 9th grade i got my first period.  (tmi?)  we're going on 16 years of this.  the first time i was so confused.  i mean, i was prepared for the gist of it.  but there is no video or pep talk that prepares an almost 14 year old girl for gut-wrenching pain.  literally.  gut-wrenching.  curled up in bed and crying gut-wrenching.  and it's been that way ever since.  well, of course i fast made friends with advil.  so that was that.

but riddle me this friends.  why is there no video that shows a seemingly normal and sweet woman threatening her purse's life because she can't get her ipod into its pocket?  because that is the reality, isn't it?  and that is when you need a little something extra.

so what is my something this month?

have you heard black eyed peas "imma be"?  it is a fun song.  i mean, really fun.  like i dare you not to dance.  dare.  BUT.  that isn't even really it.  it is, but it isn't.  because it gets better.  the beginning of the song goes like, "imma be, imma be, imma imma imma be, imma be, imma be, imma imma imma be..."  now, because i am lucky, i married a guy with the quickest wit around.  and, because you are lucky, he married a girl who writes about him.  i don't know if he gets any part of this lucky stuff...although i am known to do a mean load of laundry...

whoa.  let's bring this back around.

SO.  we download said song and b starts singing, "imma be, imma be, i'm a fuckin bumble bee"...

AND. IT'S. PERFECT.

perfect.

now, whenever i hear it, i imagine chubby little gangsta bumble bee's dancing and singing and partying.  and my heart could fly right out of my chest with pure exuberance.  (did you even think this post would encompass the world of pms and the word 'exuberance'?  i know...i didn't either...)

so, if this finds you in a questionable mood.  or even a delightful mood, i highly suggest this song.  and i highly suggest singing the alternate lyrics.  i can promise it will make you feel cooler than fergie   :)  (and maybe that can take each of us a teensy step closer to josh duhamel...worth it, no?)

<3

for all that i have not, for all that i have

i haven't got any fantastically witty pictures for you today.  i haven't even got any plain old pictures today.  just words.  my constant companions.  and here's the gist of them.  i don't quite know if i'm in a bad mood.  i think i am...  i keep having thoughts about how taylor swift winning album of the year seems like a joke since she can't sing live for the life of her.  or about how much some of my friends suck.  see?  you can clearly see why i think i'm in a bad mood...  as i got ready for work this morning, i knew i had to accomplish two things of utmost importance.  clean the litter box, for one.  and take some chicken out of the freezer to commence defrosting because darn it all if a good home-cooked meal doesn't sound freakin delicious.  and then i cleaned up the bathroom counter.  wiped it all down.  and it wasn't even on my two-item-list.  maybe it's magic?  for some reason, cleaning in the morning is so much easier than in the evening.  (who am i?!)  i even wished for some extra time to clean up the garage.  (did you hear that thud?  it was benny falling onto the floor.  because i never.  never.  want to clean the garage.  even when he begs.  and promises me a romantic date.  i always make a face.  a face of evil, really.)  but today, cleaning the garage would feel sooo good.  god it's a mess in there.  and i only went in there to get said frozen chicken.  do you think it's awesome that we have two fridges?  i do.  well, it kind of makes me feel like a grandma...don't grandma's always have two fridges?  so anyway, i go out there to get the chicken and...i see our christmas tree stand...atop boxes of decorations...atop...  and so, i know it's time.  time for a serious effort.  but i am afraid it might also be the kind of day where i have he-man (she-ra?) amounts of energy until just about 4:30p.  and then i'm exhausted.  and then i just curl up on the couch and zone out.  so, today, i guess i am praying for energy.  the lasting kind.  and patience.  and the ability to hold my tongue.  because with hateful thoughts about taylor swift, who knows what else i'm capable of today...

xo

in the swirl and the hiss of thursday

(like the part where zooey pretends he's buddy and talks to franny from the abandoned bedroom to try to talk her out of her nervous breakdown.  heartbreaking.)

i am more than a bit sad today.  the news of jd salinger's death has quieted a happy part of me.  the part of me that is in love with the language of words.  the language of the glass family...  i have read and re-read his books and stories.  created images in my mind of faces and homes i will never know.  he felt more like a distant grandfather than a stranger.  i don't even know if he would like that.  would like me to say that.  but i'm saying it.  and his words make me want to write words.  i regret very deeply that, in the card i gave to b on our wedding day, as i was hiding away, waiting to be seen, i didn't write that quote...my favorite quote.  *raise high the roof beam, carpenters.  like ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man...*  how i would go back just to whisper those words to my bridegroom.  standing tall at the end of the aisle.  all love and promises kept, and those to be kept.

aren't words everything sometimes?  and other times it is all old book smell and worn pages against fingertips.  words are everything.

dear mr. salinger,
we never did know one another.  or did we somewhere in the fringes of consciousness?  i feel like we were great friends in a past life.  we laughed, i am sure of it.  and talked of things that mattered and didn't.  i can only hope we smoked cigarettes and drank coffee...  today, when i read the news that you'd died, a part of me i didn't know existed became empty.  i felt it, immediately, and realized i had carried you around with me all of this life, some lives past, and it would never cease.  and that's fine by me, sir.  please count on me passing your words down to my children and theirs.  and please don't balk at such wild promises.  you were far better than you could ever know.  my words have not been the same since your words.

and these words are my vow.

your old friend, emily b.

thursday morning: a mini-post

this morning i awoke to tiggy's plaintive cry.  he was hungry.  it was 5:30.  a.m.  so i fed him.  and felt awake.  we'd gone to sleep at 9:30.  ish.  and it felt so good.  both the falling asleep and the waking.  i crawled back into bed and closed my eyes.  had fleeting dreams.  was half-asleep.  then that chubby gray boy cried again.  and this time, it was a different cry.  and i bolted up to find him.  because, tiggy has two kinds of meows.  the 'feed me/pet me' meow.  and the 'the litter box is full and i'm about to pee on your couch' meow.  and this was the latter.  so i called to him.  in a sleepy yet frantic way.  and i went to cleaning the litter.  which was disgustingly full.  and i can't blame him for crying nor for waking me up.  i wasn't even half-finished when he pushed his way past me to pee.  that poor boy.  so chubby and desperate.  crisis averted, i headed back to bed.  as i scootched, i felt b's hand under my back.  he curled his arm, with me in it, and pulled me to his chest.  bliss.  he was so warm and soft and his sleepy breaths nearly put me right back into dreamland.  until his alarm went off.  blasting red hot chili peppers.  hm.  so he got up, showered.  and i slept on his side of the bed.  which was warm and soft and smelled like his skin.  his hair.  it was quite romantic is what it was.  left me with sweet dreams.  left me wishing i never had to get up to go to work.  that he didn't either.

(before bed.  and just plain happy.)

there are times, whole days, when you just know

(outside of work, friday after a week of storming. so beautiful and bright. life-affirming. if you look closely, you can see both arches...the top one is very faint.)

 

sunday night i lay awake.  my thoughts were like formula 1 racers.  (you heard me.)  ben had been sleeping for awhile.  and i could not.  could not fall asleep.  could not shut up my brain's dialogue.  or monologue, really.  just on and on and on.  see, i'm just paranoid enough to have the weirdest and worst thoughts imaginable.  yet, just sane enough to know i'm making this all up.  that all of those terrible thoughts about, wait, are those footsteps?  or, wait, how quickly could i wake up ben and what would be our best escape route?

and then it's hours later.  and i'm wide-eyed and awake.  still.

so eventually i found sleep.  and dreamt that an old love of b's came into town because she needed him.  he was the only one who could help her.  and i knew he'd never turn her down.  and i knew he'd relish in spending time with her.  and soon she was a part of our lives.  and i was miserable.  and she was conniving.  and he was oblivious.  but she's just a friend.  but she just needs my help.  all the while, she's crying alligator tears and slowly stealing my favorite&best.

i woke up at, i think, 3, gave a loud sigh, and went back to sleep to somehow recover from my emotional trauma.  the next morning i laughed at the thought of me groaning out of sheer frustration at said dream.  like, oh, give me a break!  but for serious.  why torture myself with my own thoughts?


and then monday was like a recovery of sorts.  i was exhausted.  (fighting for your man is exhausting.)  and everything was a challenge.  but i knew it would be that way.  i knew it sunday night when every possible scenario of what-if/terrible/etc. flew threw my mind.  and there is not much else to do but run with it.


or walk quickly.  i am a terrible runner.