Recently in ever hopeful and ever blue Category

i imagine myself discovering newdifferent energies within my imbalanced chemistry, i even believe i've already done some discovering, based on evidence that i'll refrain from enumerating here (suffice to say it falls somewhere between hubris & arrogance, & leave it at that).

is it still low self-esteem if i suspect that my high self-esteem is somewhere between extremely optimistic & delusional, based on actual factual accomplishments? it doesn't matter, as long as there is a core within which believes in a basis not yet accomplished, even if it consists of some fairly far-fetched dreams. the quirky loser with big plans is always a fun character to play in any good story, and that's the worst that can come of this, anything else is pie. a la mode. with a cup of really fine, fresh coffee. in a beach house.

somewhere between extremely optimistic & delusional, which is fine by me.

so anyway.

i am sooooo blonde. and you know what? it like, totally fits.

so there's this wonderful dictionary online, we are talking in-depth reference here, which i heard of because they found kurtwood's and my photographs on the stock photo site.

they used mine for these: 101, 95, arachnophobia, Born, Brass, buick, busy, cocoon, darkness, darn, daughter's, decorate, decorated, digging, ensued, fastest, fear, five, halloween, hour, however, hundred, hydrant, inch, kid, knocked, legged, miles, ninety, override, per, regal, saved, southbound, speedometer, spelling, spider's, spindly, straighten, terrified, today, ventura, vs.

they used kurtwood's for: grass, hand, worth. they gave us nice credit for it & everything.

hmm. did i have anything else to say? i am soooo blonde, have i mentioned that?

ok then. my daughter is an eggdonor. a *successful* eggdonor, having just presented her hopeful but up to this point infertile couple with twenty three eggs. they don't use them all at once, of course, but when the donor begins the medication that sends her into ovulation overdrive, the recipient begins meds which coordinate their cycles, so there can be simultaneous ... fruition. and when the moment is ripe, there is the harvesting, and immediately following, there is the ... implanting. or something. something involving a cup and a dogeared copy of penthouse, and ... boy meets egg across a crowded petri dish and ... laporoscopic version of a turkey baster and ... you know. birds. bees.

ok then. so. if all went well, by now, there is a little bundle of cells dividing merrily in some nervous but elated future mommy's tummy. and. t-e-c-h-n-i-c-a-l-l-y? this makes me ... potentially ... um nevermind.

this is Jen's story.
this is Jen's donation page (click the button below). her doctor's given her the go-ahead to train for the three day breast cancer walk this july.

i'm putting this in the sidebar, but i wanted it up here to start the new year.

GO JEN!!

the smell of the sugar cookie candle spreads through my psyche sweet & pure, warm & real. impulses trigger a flurry of atavistic activity in the brainstem far before any higher process begins; i am comforted far beyond my ability to explain my appreciation of scents & sensuality. no matter what manner of intellectual sophistry i throw at this, the overriding underlying truth behind my response is as primitive as can be.

i am above all under the influence of the the things i know by the way they come in contact with &/or enter my body: smell, taste, touch. sight & hearing transmit to me things happening outside and unconnected to me and subject to interference as they travel the distance to me, the static of my own learned interpretations, the distortion caused by my issues and baggage and damage. i suppose you could call my eyes & ears jaded, even cynical. i do not believe everything i hear or see, but i do tend to believe what i touch taste and smell.

that i allow this is perhaps the last expression of my innocence.

i realize i am confusing and confused. i tend to vent and babble here in a seriously surreal, circuitous fashion, however i do have a point. well, not a point exactly. but a plan, albeit a somewhat nonlinear, amorphous one:

someday the facts of the matters alluded to in these ramblings here will be fictionalized, some slightly some entirely, until they become more than the sum of themselves. in the process i fully expect to discover other levels, for certainly they exist within me already, however they are inaccessible from my current perspective, which is in fact the depths of the worst of the material facts, with a few shining exceptions of course. those are keeping me alive, and will be woven into with the darkness and fear as written, as they are here now in life, only more artfully (hopefully) (at this point they are awfully bloody awkward)

so i am at this point taking copious notes (some 45,000 words thus far) and when i can see something in the reflection that is more than the image itself, ... well, i don't exactly know what's going to happen then.

i'm looking forward to finding out.

i was going to say 'this will all make sense someday' but honestly i don't know how much actual coherence the finished whatever will have, coherence is not my strong suit. but there will be wicked vivid imagery and all the pretty euphony and taken as a whole, this will all have some purpose beyond the telling of the story behind all the confusing allusions.

as the whining playlist of doom spins in the cdrom and i spin within, i realize i have to code what amounts to a miracle before morning. we are talking final deadline. final. not a personal deadline mind you, those i've blown through like a los angeles criminal through stoplights with a hundred of lapd's finest in hot pursuit. hot pursuit. no, this is a real actual deadline.

*deep breath*

ok then. it's on.

beer: $7.99
swingset: $159.99
hanging upside down on a sunny saturday afternoon: fucking priceless.

at the (update: well not anymore -- 9.12.03) top blog. and thanks, nick, this made my day.

sometimes i wonder. all the whining i do, and i do whine, not always outloud but believe you me there's a whole lotta snivelin' goin' on at any one time, somewhere inside somehow someway. and yeah i don't always get what i want.

but people who know me bring me strange little shiny objects, yes, when people see small glittery things headed for a wastebasket, they think of me. which is utterly delightful.

and then there are random kindnesses that are so out of left blue yonder and just in the nick of time, a tick or so before some detonation. it's no wonder i live well the hell in denial most of the time, you would too if the universe had saved your sorry ass as many times as it has mine. it's not that i expect it, it's just it's become fairly difficult to envision the terrible things that might happen that are supposed to happen that are just about supposed to be right about now ... now and ... and then there's this sort of swooping scooping move, this graceful save out of nowhere and ...

maybe this is normal and i'm just really paranoid about bad things i shouldn't even worry about? no.

no, it's not normal. i'm not sure i entirely deserve it either and before you go disagreeing may i just say you don't know everything about me, and we'll leave it at that? ok then.

wow i'm not really good with thankyous am i? in case it's not clear, that's what this is.

i would like to thank the inventor of the shower massage & the designers at blue asphalt jeans for getting me to work today. it was actually the jeans that got me in the shower, rather the discovery that they fit again, & the delight at the way they fit. on the day of fitting into righteous ass-pants, one *must* get out in the world. & even with that motivation, had it not been for the long, long, hot shower, there would have been no hope. none whatsoever.

you know, a good-fitting pair of pants is very stimulating.