saint-louise's Diaryland Diary

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The holes in my head are really overrated.

This is for slummy. Because she is a dedicated reader. There she is. Anticipating. People, SLUMMY IS A HARDCORE, SAINT-LOVING FOOL.

And I’ve exchanged emails with her for the past couple of days. Emails laced with rambling sentences, and cold-medicine-tweaked comments, and uses of the word “clut.” I tried desperately to yank a decent entry from deep within my phlegm-clogged lungs, just for her. But:
a) I had to stop and think about why my entries are stored in my lungs, and
b) The only sentences I could piece together described the various kinds of pain in my sinuses. They were lovely descriptions. Very creative and vivid. But there’s only so much I wanted to say about my nasal cavities on the internet.

My sinuses. My business.

So the long pause before a new entry has nothing to do with the fact that I’m crushingly dull when I’m sick. Nothing at all.

So, in the midst of this week’s finals, and sending Taylor off on her first ski trip, and receiving a larger-than-usual dose of work-related, shitty email, I had a thought that made me pause:

I am dangerously close to allowing myself to be defined by how many change control item numbers and conference call passcodes I can remember without having to look them up.

I need to shift a little, so I am instead defined by how many obscure literary references I can throw into a conversation, without worrying that they might have also been used by Grissom on CSI.

Check that: I think I am dangerously close to watching enough episodes of CSI as to make myself certifiably Pathetic.

But…it’s my weak attempt at a backlash against reality television.

(I wish that sentence didn’t look like if it were spoken, it would come out as a whine.)

My Thanksgiving vacation was nice, even if it was more…scheduled than I prefer. (Wipe that smirk off of your face.) I got to see Rob and George while they were in town, before and after I went to Pennsylvania. I even cooked breakfast for a big ol’ group of people, including most of my family, and three friends of the family. In fact, it turned out to be a big enough group of people that I severely underestimated the amount of breakfasty food I would require in order to sate their collective hunger.

First, I ran out of eggs. Then the pancakes vanished. The grapes had been polished off somewhere before the bacon started to dwindle. But I remained cool as one after the other my breakfast guests wandered into the kitchen to stand over the famished, trembling shell of my former self and say, gently, “WHERE IS THE REST OF THE BACON, COOKING WENCH?!”

I started giving them the rest of the bacon raw, since they couldn’t wait for me to cook it. I threw english muffins and jars of peanut butter into the dining area. I multiplied loaves and fishes. They eventually grunted in disgust, kicked me, and left.

I found an old bag of walnuts in the back of the fridge, and had that for breakfast before crying myself to sleep.

It was wonderful.

As for the rest of the week: being with The Kin of OH (dum dum DUMMMMDRAMATICREVERB) for Thanksgiving was more relaxing than I had anticipated it would be. The offspring adored OH’s family; they all hit it off immediately. We had a lovely holiday meal, during which Taylor nestled in right next to OH’s father’s heart when she inhaled a whole plate of the turkey he had labored over all day, and then asked for a drumstick as well. A turkey drumstick. It was almost as big as her head. But she sat there, happily gnawing away. OH’s family commented with delight about how healthy her appetite was. I refrained from making an inappropriate comment about tape worms. It was a bonding moment.

We also visited OH’s brother and sister-in-law and Taylor fed their cats and dog every last treat in the house. (I’d like to officially apologize for the animal gas that probably threatened to suffocate them in their sleep that night.)

And we got to go to the zoo, where we saw wildly boinging gazelles and primates who gazed at us with steady disdain. We ate chili cheese dogs. I didn’t think about how they may possibly have been prepared in the vicinity of animal fecal matter. And I definitely didn’t almost say something about it. Then we wandered around to look at more animals, and freeze our asses off.

Um…it was more fun than I just made it sound. I promise.

2:15 p.m. - 2004-12-10

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