Chewels

Remember that nasty-ass gum in the 80's called Chewels? It tasted ok for the first .4 seconds until you got to the liquid center that squirted out onto your newly-sealed teeth. I remember chewing my first piece while on the Mann playground. I was climbing on top of the metal box that sat on the blacktop. Andrew Callanan hit his forehead on the corner of the box and needed stitches from it. It wasn't very safe and I have no idea who decided to keep it there. In any event, I was almost to the top when I bit into the gum and nearly died, it tasted so awful.

I'm having a pretty productive day. could be the massive amounts of Diet Coke in my system, but more than likely it's because I am so incredibly thrilled that I am not running a retail store right now. I'm motivated to get my school work done. I got to enjoy my Thanksgiving like the rest of fat America, eating more and more and more and watching lots of movies at AJ's parent's house. It was nice.

Yes, I have a ton of work to get done before the semester is over on December 15th. But no matter how much I have, there is an end in sight. A "vacation" in sight. A time to recuperate, maybe send out holiday cards, wrap presents all nice-like, and sit on my ass. I cried every single Christmas from 1999-2004. Every one. At some point in the day my exhaustion would set in. I'd realize that as much as I was enjoying myself, I had to be at the store at 6 am the next day. The day would be long, I'd be tired, and rinse and repeat. It really became too much.

Anyway, on that note I should get back. Pop in a Juicy Fruit like the 1980's commercial where all of a sudden the gum makes you DO THINGS and get to it.

the rythym is gonna get you...

Yoga Farts Smell Worse Than Bathtub Farts

I've done 2 things this weekend that qualify as true indulgence. Firstly, I got a massage. a deep-tissue, hair-splitting, "ouch, but it feels so good" massage. my hip has been sore now for weeks and I refuse to admit that it's due to premature arthritis. My dad suggested that. thanks Dad. btw your bald spot's getting bigger. the massage was amazingly great, and I really want to treat myself to one every now and again. it's only in those times that I realize how much tension I pack into my 4'10" frame. The other thing I did was attend a yoga class. As much as I want to commit to yoga as a form of release and help my overall inner well-being, the freak shows that go to class are too much. the deep breathing, occasional moan, and (yes) occasional flatulence send me right off the roof. I try so hard to let my "ankles stay active" and allow my "heart to reach my hamstrings," but in the end, I giggle and giggle and hiccup and end up sounding weirder than said "freak shows." so enough of that astanga, vinyasa hoo haa.

Super Dread

on the way back from school this afternoon, I sat behind Super Dread on the CT1. Super Dread is a lady who has hair that literally forms a snakelike concoction sideways off of her head, and runs down to her bum. I see SD all the time around Cambridge, and thought nothing of it today when I took the seat behind her. Until I noticed the hair--almost mystifyingly stiff. I wondered if bird's nests lived in there and she didn't know it. A dirty brown chaff of wheat, it truly identifies her. I wonder if she cares about that.

Cackle & Smoke

just walked home behind a lady literally cackling like the wicked witch of the east, right into her cell phone. that poor person on the other end. en route to home, caught a whiff of smokey fallness. it smelled so good. i thought to myself how nice it would be to stand outside and smell that smell all night long. but i realized i was cold. then i thought "of course you are, fucker. it's new england." the catch-22. smells good as shit but it's cold as fuck.

going home to DC tomorrow to see the family. hope it is less dramatic than the last 5 visits. just give me a cute baby to hold and a glass of wine and i should be ok. ok, back to work...

why use Danish

I haven't written in my journal since February '05. I'm not proud of it. for months I've tossed around the idea that I've had no urge to write because I fell in love. It's true that I've lost some of that spunky angst that guided me through the many years. But lately that notion seems so lame. not the notion of being in love, that one still gets a "yes please," but the idea that because I'm not fueled by a daily need to inflict passive harm through my biting words to the silly boys who once bruised my heart, I don't have the drive to record my thoughts.

what I'm finding though is that even though the bruising boys of yesteryear are seemingly gone (except for random sightings at cambridge haunts--btw you know who you are and I know who you are so next time, just say hi ok?), my angst just takes other forms. people walking too slow on the sidewalk. the asshole 29 year old schmuck who thought it was ok to not be a gentleman and step on my toe as he butted in front of me on the CT1 last week. no no...sorry mr. man. scoot. i made sure my backpack hit him a few times as I dodged the couple kissing on the bus.
Can't blame them really...release from the meth clinic down the street can illicit joy in just about anyone.

I've also fought the idea because after leaving a job I knew for 9+ years to go to grad school, I've fulfilled my self-involvement quota of the year. Why should I get to indulge myself in morning runs with my sister, intellectual stimulation, AND self-reflection? I know--lame again.

So here I am.