too beautiful to fuck
I almost lost my bubbi today.
That's bubbi, not bubbe. (I don't have one of the latter. I've got a chatty 5-foot-nothing British grandma who loves to give me 8am wake-up calls on Saturday mornings and point out the times when I'm looking "a little plump" and refuses to admit her real age. I love her desperately. I love you, Ivy Kellam.)
But back to Bubbi. Lately her battery has been unreliable; she's been turning herself off even when she appears to be fully charged. Somehow, this always seems to happen at the most heart-breaking times: right as I start my early-morning run, or in the very very middle of my long and boring shift at work. Sometimes I swear at her when this happens. During particularly painful death shifts, surrounded by a cave of boxes, I've even been known to shed a tear at the loss of my music.
Today her battery "ran out" around 10, and I decided to give her a rest to gain a bit of strength back. At the end of the night I got onto my bike to head home and turned my ipod back on (because I like to ride to The Replacements, and who the hell wouldn't)...only there wasn't anything there. No artists, not a single song. It had completely reset itself to zero. To nothing. All the playlists I lovingly nursed during depressed months were suddenly, silently missing.
I froze on the pavement. Not true, actually: I said FUCK about fifteen times in a row. Some dirty postal worker watched me from a distance, entranced, or disgusted, or both.
Was this a sign? Everything in my life seems to be resetting itself these days. I'm flying backwards through time.
Example A: I go for my G test last Friday, fail it, (for no good reason), accept the fact that I've left this matter to the very last minute and am forced to give up my license completely. Suddenly I'm sixteen years old again. Suddenly I'm reading the fucking driver's handbook and studying for my G1 written test, again, feeling meek and vulnerable and teenaged, again.
Example B: My three year diabetes anniversary comes around, and I try to celebrate it the way that I always do ("no seizures/comas/hospital visits this year! let's go get ice cream!"), and I try to put on a happy face and show some self-pride but my mind spends the entire day locked in that hospital room in the past. Suddenly I'm eighteen years old again. Suddenly I'm weak and cold and crying, feeling less independent & strong and more damaged & breakable, again.
Example C: My ipod dies as I stand alone in the Gateway parking lot at 11oclock at night on an oddly chilly summer night. Suddenly it's like the last three years never happened. (Was I really that whiny?). (Did I actually cry that much?). (Fuck, I suck). I took it as a sign.
Edit: A few minutes ago I checked again and it looks like Bubbi has now found her memory. Every song is still there. My terrible running playlist; my Sufjan problem of '05; concrete proof of the 101 times I've listened to "I'll Believe In Anything". S'all there. Phew?
But at least now I have a little bit of a kick to start moving forward again. I've been dwelling in the past lately, but I don't feel comfortable there anymore. It is probably time to move on.
So, what else. What have I been doing with my time?
1. I go down the street to "thrift corners" and waste hours browsing dirty old shoes and ceramic knickknacks. 2. I buy one dollar books at said thrift stores and read them exclusively at work, curled up in my big office chair, hiding from the supervisor's gaze. 3. I brainstorm possible names for our new puppy (puppy's estimated time of arrival: Saturday morning). 4. I watch Iron Chef America when I get home from work, because there is nothing else on at that hour. 5. Secret: I have a crush on Bobby Flay. 6. I download new albums as soon as they leak. I catch all that dribble. 7. I draw pictures of bunnies on Paintbrush. 8. I constantly rewrite the first line of this story I've been working on for weeks and weeks. The idea is all there, whole, but I can't get past the first line. Secret: It's about The Little Rascals. 9. I can't sleep in this goddamn bed. 10. I miss the shit out of London. 11. I fear that I'm fading...
But I'm not. Really. Not this time.
That's bubbi, not bubbe. (I don't have one of the latter. I've got a chatty 5-foot-nothing British grandma who loves to give me 8am wake-up calls on Saturday mornings and point out the times when I'm looking "a little plump" and refuses to admit her real age. I love her desperately. I love you, Ivy Kellam.)
But back to Bubbi. Lately her battery has been unreliable; she's been turning herself off even when she appears to be fully charged. Somehow, this always seems to happen at the most heart-breaking times: right as I start my early-morning run, or in the very very middle of my long and boring shift at work. Sometimes I swear at her when this happens. During particularly painful death shifts, surrounded by a cave of boxes, I've even been known to shed a tear at the loss of my music.
Today her battery "ran out" around 10, and I decided to give her a rest to gain a bit of strength back. At the end of the night I got onto my bike to head home and turned my ipod back on (because I like to ride to The Replacements, and who the hell wouldn't)...only there wasn't anything there. No artists, not a single song. It had completely reset itself to zero. To nothing. All the playlists I lovingly nursed during depressed months were suddenly, silently missing.
I froze on the pavement. Not true, actually: I said FUCK about fifteen times in a row. Some dirty postal worker watched me from a distance, entranced, or disgusted, or both.
Was this a sign? Everything in my life seems to be resetting itself these days. I'm flying backwards through time.
Example A: I go for my G test last Friday, fail it, (for no good reason), accept the fact that I've left this matter to the very last minute and am forced to give up my license completely. Suddenly I'm sixteen years old again. Suddenly I'm reading the fucking driver's handbook and studying for my G1 written test, again, feeling meek and vulnerable and teenaged, again.
Example B: My three year diabetes anniversary comes around, and I try to celebrate it the way that I always do ("no seizures/comas/hospital visits this year! let's go get ice cream!"), and I try to put on a happy face and show some self-pride but my mind spends the entire day locked in that hospital room in the past. Suddenly I'm eighteen years old again. Suddenly I'm weak and cold and crying, feeling less independent & strong and more damaged & breakable, again.
Example C: My ipod dies as I stand alone in the Gateway parking lot at 11oclock at night on an oddly chilly summer night. Suddenly it's like the last three years never happened. (Was I really that whiny?). (Did I actually cry that much?). (Fuck, I suck). I took it as a sign.
Edit: A few minutes ago I checked again and it looks like Bubbi has now found her memory. Every song is still there. My terrible running playlist; my Sufjan problem of '05; concrete proof of the 101 times I've listened to "I'll Believe In Anything". S'all there. Phew?
But at least now I have a little bit of a kick to start moving forward again. I've been dwelling in the past lately, but I don't feel comfortable there anymore. It is probably time to move on.
So, what else. What have I been doing with my time?
1. I go down the street to "thrift corners" and waste hours browsing dirty old shoes and ceramic knickknacks. 2. I buy one dollar books at said thrift stores and read them exclusively at work, curled up in my big office chair, hiding from the supervisor's gaze. 3. I brainstorm possible names for our new puppy (puppy's estimated time of arrival: Saturday morning). 4. I watch Iron Chef America when I get home from work, because there is nothing else on at that hour. 5. Secret: I have a crush on Bobby Flay. 6. I download new albums as soon as they leak. I catch all that dribble. 7. I draw pictures of bunnies on Paintbrush. 8. I constantly rewrite the first line of this story I've been working on for weeks and weeks. The idea is all there, whole, but I can't get past the first line. Secret: It's about The Little Rascals. 9. I can't sleep in this goddamn bed. 10. I miss the shit out of London. 11. I fear that I'm fading...
But I'm not. Really. Not this time.