time flies...

Time is something you seem to lose sense of, even when it’s staring you right in the face. The older we get, the faster it seems to go, when really, it’s one of the few stable things in life. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

A lot of people say timing is everything. I tend to think that’s true only because people let it. Sometimes the most inconvenient timing of something amazing can still be amazing if you’re willing to inconvenience yourself a little. So take a chance, because that perfect moment, where all the stars align, and all the fates come together… well… who has time to wait for that?

sigh...

For some reason I’m in a Wicked mood. The Broadway musical, not the British kind. I don’t know what it is about listening to old songs, whether it’s from a few years ago or a few decades ago, but I find is really comforting. It’s familiar, and brings back feelings and memories. I like that.

Sometimes I feel like all I do is wish for the past, or wait for the future. The present always just seems like a waste of time.

Bah Humbug

I know it’s only Halloween, but it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas to me! Last year I had this problem of lacking any holiday cheer, right up until Christmas Eve. I got some of that last minute holly and mistletoe spirit in me by watching It’s A Wonderful Life on TV. I also got some of that spirit by drinking… well… spirits.

Oh, I kid.

Anyway, the point is, can it be Christmas time already? I know in a month I’ll be overwhelmed with saccharine songs and images of jolly fat men, but right now I’d love the smell of pine needles and ginger snaps.

Last year I worked in a store-that-shall-not-be-named, and the good cheer we had to keep circulating in the air is probably what sapped me of any Christmas joy. The store had one CD of Christmas songs that it would play over and over and over and over again. One CD. That’s like 15 songs. All day long. Paired with the incessant consumerism and dealings with frazzled housewives, I pretty much wanted to throw up all over Christmas and yell “Take that! How do YOU like it?!”

I miss the old days of listening to the Muppets sing Christmas songs from the cassette player in the car. I miss the presents being endless and big under a real tree I went with my family to pick out two weeks before. I miss hanging a wreath outside my door and poinsettias on the dining room table. I miss stockings and hot chocolate and movies starring Tim Allen. Maybe some of that I still have, but now the magic feels as faded as the memories.

Yet I still anticipate this season’s arrival, because despite its inevitable let down, being a Scrooge in December is more fun that being a Scrooge in July.

the edge of reason

I always break a nail at the most inopportune moment. I f-- up job interviews. More times than not I have a run in my stockings (and for men who complain about wearing a tie to work, try wearing pantyhose every day). I sing the wrong words to songs. It takes me a while to do simple math in my head. I'm sometimes late to class, and if I'm on time, that just means I've forgotten my homework. When I wake up in the morning I don't feel like doing my hair up in some perfect kind of coif. I feel like going back to bed. And I will never, ever be Skinny Enough.

Every woman has felt like Bridget Jones at one point or another. Sure it's the 21st century, but there's no denying that a single 35 year old man is a very different thing than a single 35 year old woman. That is a very scary future (or present) for all of us. Every woman has felt too fat, smoked or drank too much, burned a dinner, and dated the wrong guys while waiting for the right one. Bridget Jones is the clumsy girl who says the wrong thing at the wrong time in all of us.

And all we want is for someone to tell us they like us.
Just as we are.

But besides that, it's not like we can't kick our bad habits, get in shape, and have an awesome career anyway.

love me, love me, say that you love me

I’d like to think that I’m above hollow phrases of congratulations or insincere condolences. I wish I had enough sensibility to detest jargon of every kind, and abhor language that has been worn and hackneyed beyond all sense and meaning. But alas, I’m a fisher for compliments, and a sympathy whore.

When I tell you I’m sick, I expect the utmost attention and well wishes to get better. I want you to OOO and AHH at my achievements and lay accolades at my feet. That paper I got an A on, that just slipped out of my book and into your hands was no accident, my friend. I want you to feel my pain, and rejoice in my success; and if you don’t give a damn, well I don’t give a damn—pretend you’re sad/happy for me anyway! I purposely get haircuts twice a year, so that when I do, people notice. As I sheepishly accept compliments on my stylish new look, I’d in reality be sorely disappointed if you didn’t say anything at all.

Call me shallow. Call me conceited. Call me narcissistic. But only in your head. Because to my face, you better call me awesome.

on love and lost

It’s hard getting past the debris, the little ways someone you used to love has littered your life. The song he would play in the car every time the two of you drove down to the beach. His favorite movie where he could quote every line. The sticker he put on the wall—the one you tried to peel off, but the sticky remains stick stubbornly in place. Encounter any of these… and all it does is remind you that the memories are really all that you have left of him. Time heals all wounds, but love has a carbon life—and it seems to linger even when it’s dead.

~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*

Growing up you learn something about long distance friendships. It’s all about what it’s worth to you, and how you learn to deal that decides how well you stay in touch. After high school, after college, after your first job, you move away—and you move away alone. It would be nice to take your best friend, your (soon to be ex) boyfriend, or even your parents, along for the ride, but the car’s only got room for one passenger, and you aren’t as thin as you used to be, so no squeezing!

But as people, we’re adaptive animals, and we learn to live without the ones we love inhabiting our lives every day. Soon, you get so used to not having them around, that you’d barely know what to do with them if they suddenly moved next door. You keep in touch with letters, or emails, or phone calls, but for the everyday headaches, and troubles, and happiness, and laughter… you find someone else to share those things with.

It becomes a different kind of relationship, a long distance one, and it doesn’t have to be any less deep, or close, or important, it just changes. I wish you could be here, you think into the cosmics, some random point on some random day, wondering if the person you love is thinking the same thing. But they’re not there with you no matter how hard you wish, and while it sucks, it’s okay too. Because if you did your job right, you know they’ll always be there for you, even if they’re a thousand miles away.

~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*

I lost my favorite pair of socks, and aside from wondering “How does one lose a pair of socks?” I can’t help but think, “WHY that pair of socks, of all my pairs of socks?!”

I never thought much of it when I had it. But suddenly, now that it’s gone, boy do I miss it.

i'm just rambling at this point

There's something satisfying about fullness.

A full tank of gas.

A fully stocked fridge.

A belly full of turkey.

It's warm and comforting, and gives one a feeling of preparedness. Whenever I'm filling something up, be it a box, or uh, some other kind of container, I can't help but self-congratulate myself with a "Good job, Christina! You're really doing something productive." It's like, I'm adding something to the world. With my stuff!

But thinking about it more, there are some instances where full things are not so fun. Usually because they smell.

Laundry.

The trash can.

These things are also unfortunate because instead of suggesting the completion of some kind of task, it calls for more errands and/or effort on my part.