Oct 30 2005
welly well well
Here it is, Sunday evening. I really meant to update before now, but I didn’t feel like writing anything, and how I chose to handle that situation should be fairly obvious. I’m over it now, so here’s some disjointed randomness.
It’s been an okay weekend here in Jamelah land. Really. Had some waffles, made some jewelry, laughed a lot, got spam telling me that I won England which I guess makes me queen, marveled at autumn, and, since I’m apparently unable to open a door without hurting myself, I now have a rather large, nasty, gaping wound on my left knee. Hurrah. Oddly enough, this large, nasty, gaping wound on my left knee mirrors the spot on my right knee where I have a scar left over from a large, nasty, gaping wound I acquired once upon a time when I was walking down a mountain and I fell. Here’s a tip from me to you — when you’re walking down a mountain, PAY ATTENTION. It helps. Anyway, my point is that if I’m lucky, I can have matching scars, which will be totally awesome, though I’m somewhat surprised that it’s taken this long, considering how accident prone I am, and all.
Earlier today, I had to go to the grocery store to buy grocery-type items. It happens. When I pulled into my parking space, I noticed that the woman parked directly across from me was this… girl. From school. She’s not a girl anymore, I suppose, but she was a girl who went to high school with me, and I want to say her name was Jenny, although I’m pretty sure that her name was not actually Jenny. We looked at each other while sitting in our respective vehicles in our respective parking spaces and just as I was recognizing her, I saw the recognition flicker across her face. I’m easy to recognize, since I look pretty much exactly the same as I did when I was 17 and I even still sometimes wear my hair in pigtails though I no longer paint my fingernails blue and I finally quit wearing that black dress. If you knew me when I was 17, you’ll know exactly what black dress I’m talking about, and if you didn’t, oh well, you’re really not missing anything. That’s not the point, so anyway, after we recognized each other, she turned around and said something to someone sitting behind her, and it was then that I realized that she had a child who was over 1 and under 2 strapped into a carseat in that minivan she was driving and I thought something along the lines of “Oh. But she’s younger than me.” And to cover its tracks for thinking something so completely out of order, my brain went into overdrive trying to place who exactly non-Jenny was. Never did get it sorted out, though I did get it narrowed down to the fact that we were in a Spanish class together and she had an older brother whose name was… something and he was sleeping with one of my friends while she was also sleeping with other people. While my own life in high school wasn’t particularly interesting, I had really really interesting and dramatic friends. My friends had the dramatic lives and I was the actor (or theater nerd, as the case may be). It makes total sense. But I’m digressing about high school again and high school is not the point. The point is that I think I’m going crazy because I was at play rehearsal on Monday, and while I was waiting for my scene, I was holding my friend’s son (who is, by the way, the cutest. baby. EVER. OH! MY! GOD!!!). He climbed off of my lap and crawled away a little bit, then crawled back and looked up at me with those huge eyes of his and held his arms out to me because he wanted me to pick him back up and I swear to you that my black, bitter Grinch heart grew three sizes and before I could stop myself, I thought “Man, I have got to get me one of these.” Now, even though I know I’m a natural (ahem), I also know that oh hell no. But I’ve been uncharacteristically sensitive lately and I blame the not smoking because it’s easier to be a cynical hardass loner when you’ve got a cigarette in your hand. Really.
Or something.
Right, so I have some things to say about my neighbor’s horrifying Halloween decorations, but I’ll have to get to that tomorrow, because I either have to eat some ice cream and finish this book I’m reading, or eat some ice cream and watch some crap TV. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it’ll be one or the other. Or maybe not. I can’t quite tell yet, because I am wacky and also all about having options. But no matter what I decide to do, it’s not going to involve writing any more of this post, because as soon as I finish this sentence and the one that’s coming after it, I’m going to be done. I can tell you that much, and I’m sure you’re glad.
