Most random entry ever
I've sorta been writing this in my sleep so that should give you a good idea about what kind of coherency to expect.
I woke up at six AM this morning thinking that someone was breaking into my house. That not-really-awake fog hit me, and I couldn't quite escape the dream I was in. Something that I swear sounded like shattering glass finally managed to jolt me out of the dream, at which point I got one of those pure adrenaline shots that feels like someone took your spine and doused it in liquid nitrogen. That sorta chill. Normally it wouldn't have frightened me half as much as did, but in that split second of adrenaline you'd be amazed at how many thoughts can go through your mind. Or how intense one single thought can be that just plays on an endless loop. Aaralyn. Aaralyn, Aaralyn, Aaralyn. The bed next to me was warm, I felt that with my right hand the moment I shot up, but there was no Marc. I must have been blind in that initial bolt of fear, because the next second Marc was looking at me like I was crazy from the chair where he was feeding Aaralyn her bottle. I asked him if he heard that, 'that', and his brow knit up, turned skeptical and a little concerned, and I'm sure he wondered if I wasn't just talking in my sleep again. Apparently, as he explained in very slow, measured terms to my incredibly confused self, whatever sounds I'd thought I'd heard were figments of some strange meta-dream that I hadn't quite managed to shake out of. Regardless, I'd gotten my adrenaline shot and no matter how many times I tried to lay down again, I just wound up tossing and turning and imagining what might have happened if someone really was trying to break in. If Aaralyn hadn't of been in Marc's arms the moment I woke up. If something might have happened to her.
I never realized how true my mom was when she always told me "It's a mother's job to worry!". I've never lived with this much worry. When her monitor is quiet at night I worry about SIDS. When she's gurgling in her sleep I worry that she's sick. If she doesn't respond to me right away I worry that what if she's deaf or had a learning disability. When I lay her down on her blanket next to Aragorn I find it's usually hard for me to look away even for just a second, because what if, I don't know, the dog's fur somehow suffocates her while I'm not watching? See, worry. So much worry. And, just like with my dear mum, most of it is completely and utterly irrational. I know that most of it's completely and utterly irrational. But that doesn't make it stop.
I have this hunk of parmesan cheese in my refrigerator. It's stravecchio, something I discovered whilst in Rome filming Jumper. I'm not normally a fan of the really hard cheeses. The other hunk that's in the fridge is a block of havarti with dill, and before that it was a brie mixture with cranberries and almonds. But then I went to Italy. And dear god, there is nothing like this cheese. I bought far, far too much of it, so now it sits in the fridge taunting me and testing me (which I fail, by the way, miserably) until I reach in and wedge a new hunk off. I know that this probably doesn't deserve an entire paragraph, but, okay, actually, go out, taste this cheese, and then tell me if it does or doesn't. Because holy damn. Stravecchio. Ghum.
The best fortune cookie I ever got (After my sister's "You Are a A Happy Man", which she promptly gave to me in order to avoid some difficult gender self-perception introspection) was one that read "Respond Intelligently even to Unintelligent Treatment". I think that fortune cookie is brilliant beyond brilliant, and I like seeing people around me put it into play. Like the Mods of this place, for one. Or the people who can actually step back from arguments and be the bigger man. The other interesting phrase that fortune cookies have provided me (though I swear they ripped this one off) was "If you wrestle with pigs, everyone gets dirty". Which is so ridiculously true. I'm sure we've all had our run-ins with people like that, people who you don't even want to gratify with responses or acknowledgement just because there's no way to win except by not playing their game. Because really, with people that low, there is no logic, there is no reason, there is no compromise. So why bother? Respond intelligently. Water off a duck. Water off a duck.
For some reason this new year was one of the most intense I've ever had. All that silly business about new years and fresh starts and blank slates finally clicked with me. It was finally applicable, tangible, real. Because this is a brand new start. In two days you'll probably get another ridiculous update from me about my five years here. I've got a daughter now. I've got Marc. I've got this new life that I always imagined myself having, that I always hoped for and dreamt about, but that I could never really feel or touch before. Now it's reality. and it's euphoric. And it's terrifying. And I spent New Year's Eve and the immediately following morning having a panic attack because it hit me with a stunning sort of immediacy that this was it. 2007 is the start of the life I always hoped for. The life that I carved for myself. The accomplishment made me heady. The thought of losing it made me panic. I don't cry a lot. But that night it all fell down, and in hindsight that's just what I needed. I cried away a lot of things. A lot of negativity. A lot of paranoia. A lot of irrationality. Waking up the next day felt like floating, just to be cliche. It was a brand new day in a brand new year. And I had the dream life I'd always wanted to go with it.
WHO (THE A()!@*#)($*!) PUT THE X KEY NEXT TO THE C KEY!? I can't count how many times I've gone to copy something to a safe place and instead deleted everything I needed. Has anyone here heard about the Dvorjak system? It's an alternative keyboard configuration that's supposed to be much quicker and easier to use. The current QWERTY layout was actually purposefully designed in order to slow down the user. This was back when type writers were common, and typing too quickly meant screwing up the fine mechanics of that amazing new piece of technology. Plus, I bet in Dvorjak they didn't put the delete key right next to the copy key.
Sometimes I spend too much time around really nerdy people. I call this a positive though at times pathetic side effect of having been a part of star wars. Don't lie, there's a little bit of geek in everyone. Just uh... more in me, it seems. So. Anyways. Water. I have a whole room devoted to water. There's a wall-sized fish tank on one side and a little fountain on the nightstand. I've always been fascinated by the soothing patterns that it makes on the ceiling, and I somehow managed to get stuck in a conversation about ray tracing in animation and textures and then it meandered onto refraction in water models. They explained it as follows: Picture your stereotypical children's drawing of water, where the surface is a series of half-circles that make pointy waves (or smooth waves, your pick). Then imagine the sun shining down on top of that. What happens as we all know from grade school science glass is that the water curves the light. In the troughs of the wave, the light is sent outward, but at the peaks, the light focuses in, and you wind up getting these gorgeous reflections of white lines that criss-cross and zig zag to the rhythm of the waves. Now, the fun part is that there's actually a name for that sort of pattern. The not so fun part is that I've completely forgotten what it's called. But still. Cool, no?
I love socks. I love socks out my ears and Marc got me socks and Marc's mom sent me socks and my mom sent me socks and my brother sent me socks and my sister sent me socks and dear god, I cannot tell you how much I love socks. My feet are the happiest things in the world. That's a weird image. Okay, moving on.
Christmas tends to go above and beyond words most years. This one wasn't any different. Six AM on the dot I started to shake Marc back and forth at his shoulder. I'd been up throughout the night, to put out the presents and the stockings that I'd made for the new family (Marc refused to see them beforehand), and to feed Aaralyn. He was a wonderful sport about it all and I like to think that he was rather excited himself. So we gathered up Aaralyn between us when she woke a half hour later, after I'd gone and heated up some peppermint hot chocolate to warm us up and started the fireplace and let the dogs out. I swear we were far too sappy about it. I held Aaralyn and Marc stayed very close, and we brought her downstairs to see the tree while I tried not to squeak or do anything embarrasingly infantile myself. Well, I wound up squeaking, though it came out as more of a hee and then I was blushing something awful but I think Marc was too excited himself to really notice. I set Aaralyn into a little basket lined with a red and green fleece blanket, and she had on her tiny red velvet outfit on with the ridiculously small pointed shoes equipped with jingle bells on the tips (I'm going to be very sad in a few weeks when she starts being able to grab things and get them into her mouth; I've already started baby-proofing the house). I took pictures. lots of pictures. An obscene amount of pictures. And then I couldn't stand it anymore and we started opening presents. We each took turns. Marc let me go before him, and then we'd take turns 'helping' Aaralyn to open hers. I made out with my favorite chocolates, brand new music, a shiny, hallucinogenic looking video, SOCKS as previously mentioned and, hehe, muahah, MUAHAHAHAHHA: My Wii. Insert pervy joke at will, commander.
I'd made a dent in the frame of the TV by about 9 AM, because I didn't realize that that convenient wrist strap they have to secure the remote to your hand was actually logical and useful and holy wow, you idiot, you just chucked the controller at the television set because despite the fact that you're doing a bowling simulation, THE CONTROLLER IS NOT A BOWLING BALL. Nor is my TV a bowling lane. Nor are there any pins. Even the dogs laughed at me for that one. Suffice to say I'm enjoying my Wii.
As always, the most wonderful part of Christmas was spending time with my family. Calling home, talking to all of my siblings and plenty of the extended relatives. Sending video messages to Marc's mom and to my sister and anyone else who had video capabilities. He and I and Aaralyn all gathering together so that we could take a picture to send. And best of all was curling up that night, breathing in the scent of sandalwood, and knowing without a doubt that I'd gotten the best present anyone ever could have given me.
I don't watch TV. If you know me, you know that over the past four years I've watched roughly four shows. Crossing Jordan. The Bachelor. LOST. And MXC. ... though I try to keep that under cover. Now recently, and by recently I mean within this past week or so, I have found a new, wonderful sin called "The Office". Now I'd heard about it, but never actually experienced the awkward unbearableness that is actually viewing the show. I've had six hour marathons that got me through the first and second season in all of three days. I have my brother to thank for that one. He calls me up and is all "You should watch this! The guy on the show named Jim looks just like Dominic! He even does that mouth thing!" To which I responded with something coy and vaguely perverse about he hadn't seen Dominic anywhere near long enough to know what sort of things he does with his mouth. Regardless, LOST is on hiatus and I'm about ready to kill the show anyway for all the irrationality on it, so I figured, why not? Dreamysigh. Best show ever. I am now halfway through season three. I don't know how many seasons there are, but I plan on finishing by the end of the week. And Jim does look just like Dominic. Little bit eerie. Gotta say.
In conclusion, I should not wake up at 6 AM thinking that people are breaking into my house. Because then I wind up writing things like this.
I woke up at six AM this morning thinking that someone was breaking into my house. That not-really-awake fog hit me, and I couldn't quite escape the dream I was in. Something that I swear sounded like shattering glass finally managed to jolt me out of the dream, at which point I got one of those pure adrenaline shots that feels like someone took your spine and doused it in liquid nitrogen. That sorta chill. Normally it wouldn't have frightened me half as much as did, but in that split second of adrenaline you'd be amazed at how many thoughts can go through your mind. Or how intense one single thought can be that just plays on an endless loop. Aaralyn. Aaralyn, Aaralyn, Aaralyn. The bed next to me was warm, I felt that with my right hand the moment I shot up, but there was no Marc. I must have been blind in that initial bolt of fear, because the next second Marc was looking at me like I was crazy from the chair where he was feeding Aaralyn her bottle. I asked him if he heard that, 'that', and his brow knit up, turned skeptical and a little concerned, and I'm sure he wondered if I wasn't just talking in my sleep again. Apparently, as he explained in very slow, measured terms to my incredibly confused self, whatever sounds I'd thought I'd heard were figments of some strange meta-dream that I hadn't quite managed to shake out of. Regardless, I'd gotten my adrenaline shot and no matter how many times I tried to lay down again, I just wound up tossing and turning and imagining what might have happened if someone really was trying to break in. If Aaralyn hadn't of been in Marc's arms the moment I woke up. If something might have happened to her.
I never realized how true my mom was when she always told me "It's a mother's job to worry!". I've never lived with this much worry. When her monitor is quiet at night I worry about SIDS. When she's gurgling in her sleep I worry that she's sick. If she doesn't respond to me right away I worry that what if she's deaf or had a learning disability. When I lay her down on her blanket next to Aragorn I find it's usually hard for me to look away even for just a second, because what if, I don't know, the dog's fur somehow suffocates her while I'm not watching? See, worry. So much worry. And, just like with my dear mum, most of it is completely and utterly irrational. I know that most of it's completely and utterly irrational. But that doesn't make it stop.
I have this hunk of parmesan cheese in my refrigerator. It's stravecchio, something I discovered whilst in Rome filming Jumper. I'm not normally a fan of the really hard cheeses. The other hunk that's in the fridge is a block of havarti with dill, and before that it was a brie mixture with cranberries and almonds. But then I went to Italy. And dear god, there is nothing like this cheese. I bought far, far too much of it, so now it sits in the fridge taunting me and testing me (which I fail, by the way, miserably) until I reach in and wedge a new hunk off. I know that this probably doesn't deserve an entire paragraph, but, okay, actually, go out, taste this cheese, and then tell me if it does or doesn't. Because holy damn. Stravecchio. Ghum.
The best fortune cookie I ever got (After my sister's "You Are a A Happy Man", which she promptly gave to me in order to avoid some difficult gender self-perception introspection) was one that read "Respond Intelligently even to Unintelligent Treatment". I think that fortune cookie is brilliant beyond brilliant, and I like seeing people around me put it into play. Like the Mods of this place, for one. Or the people who can actually step back from arguments and be the bigger man. The other interesting phrase that fortune cookies have provided me (though I swear they ripped this one off) was "If you wrestle with pigs, everyone gets dirty". Which is so ridiculously true. I'm sure we've all had our run-ins with people like that, people who you don't even want to gratify with responses or acknowledgement just because there's no way to win except by not playing their game. Because really, with people that low, there is no logic, there is no reason, there is no compromise. So why bother? Respond intelligently. Water off a duck. Water off a duck.
For some reason this new year was one of the most intense I've ever had. All that silly business about new years and fresh starts and blank slates finally clicked with me. It was finally applicable, tangible, real. Because this is a brand new start. In two days you'll probably get another ridiculous update from me about my five years here. I've got a daughter now. I've got Marc. I've got this new life that I always imagined myself having, that I always hoped for and dreamt about, but that I could never really feel or touch before. Now it's reality. and it's euphoric. And it's terrifying. And I spent New Year's Eve and the immediately following morning having a panic attack because it hit me with a stunning sort of immediacy that this was it. 2007 is the start of the life I always hoped for. The life that I carved for myself. The accomplishment made me heady. The thought of losing it made me panic. I don't cry a lot. But that night it all fell down, and in hindsight that's just what I needed. I cried away a lot of things. A lot of negativity. A lot of paranoia. A lot of irrationality. Waking up the next day felt like floating, just to be cliche. It was a brand new day in a brand new year. And I had the dream life I'd always wanted to go with it.
WHO (THE A()!@*#)($*!) PUT THE X KEY NEXT TO THE C KEY!? I can't count how many times I've gone to copy something to a safe place and instead deleted everything I needed. Has anyone here heard about the Dvorjak system? It's an alternative keyboard configuration that's supposed to be much quicker and easier to use. The current QWERTY layout was actually purposefully designed in order to slow down the user. This was back when type writers were common, and typing too quickly meant screwing up the fine mechanics of that amazing new piece of technology. Plus, I bet in Dvorjak they didn't put the delete key right next to the copy key.
Sometimes I spend too much time around really nerdy people. I call this a positive though at times pathetic side effect of having been a part of star wars. Don't lie, there's a little bit of geek in everyone. Just uh... more in me, it seems. So. Anyways. Water. I have a whole room devoted to water. There's a wall-sized fish tank on one side and a little fountain on the nightstand. I've always been fascinated by the soothing patterns that it makes on the ceiling, and I somehow managed to get stuck in a conversation about ray tracing in animation and textures and then it meandered onto refraction in water models. They explained it as follows: Picture your stereotypical children's drawing of water, where the surface is a series of half-circles that make pointy waves (or smooth waves, your pick). Then imagine the sun shining down on top of that. What happens as we all know from grade school science glass is that the water curves the light. In the troughs of the wave, the light is sent outward, but at the peaks, the light focuses in, and you wind up getting these gorgeous reflections of white lines that criss-cross and zig zag to the rhythm of the waves. Now, the fun part is that there's actually a name for that sort of pattern. The not so fun part is that I've completely forgotten what it's called. But still. Cool, no?
I love socks. I love socks out my ears and Marc got me socks and Marc's mom sent me socks and my mom sent me socks and my brother sent me socks and my sister sent me socks and dear god, I cannot tell you how much I love socks. My feet are the happiest things in the world. That's a weird image. Okay, moving on.
Christmas tends to go above and beyond words most years. This one wasn't any different. Six AM on the dot I started to shake Marc back and forth at his shoulder. I'd been up throughout the night, to put out the presents and the stockings that I'd made for the new family (Marc refused to see them beforehand), and to feed Aaralyn. He was a wonderful sport about it all and I like to think that he was rather excited himself. So we gathered up Aaralyn between us when she woke a half hour later, after I'd gone and heated up some peppermint hot chocolate to warm us up and started the fireplace and let the dogs out. I swear we were far too sappy about it. I held Aaralyn and Marc stayed very close, and we brought her downstairs to see the tree while I tried not to squeak or do anything embarrasingly infantile myself. Well, I wound up squeaking, though it came out as more of a hee and then I was blushing something awful but I think Marc was too excited himself to really notice. I set Aaralyn into a little basket lined with a red and green fleece blanket, and she had on her tiny red velvet outfit on with the ridiculously small pointed shoes equipped with jingle bells on the tips (I'm going to be very sad in a few weeks when she starts being able to grab things and get them into her mouth; I've already started baby-proofing the house). I took pictures. lots of pictures. An obscene amount of pictures. And then I couldn't stand it anymore and we started opening presents. We each took turns. Marc let me go before him, and then we'd take turns 'helping' Aaralyn to open hers. I made out with my favorite chocolates, brand new music, a shiny, hallucinogenic looking video, SOCKS as previously mentioned and, hehe, muahah, MUAHAHAHAHHA: My Wii. Insert pervy joke at will, commander.
I'd made a dent in the frame of the TV by about 9 AM, because I didn't realize that that convenient wrist strap they have to secure the remote to your hand was actually logical and useful and holy wow, you idiot, you just chucked the controller at the television set because despite the fact that you're doing a bowling simulation, THE CONTROLLER IS NOT A BOWLING BALL. Nor is my TV a bowling lane. Nor are there any pins. Even the dogs laughed at me for that one. Suffice to say I'm enjoying my Wii.
As always, the most wonderful part of Christmas was spending time with my family. Calling home, talking to all of my siblings and plenty of the extended relatives. Sending video messages to Marc's mom and to my sister and anyone else who had video capabilities. He and I and Aaralyn all gathering together so that we could take a picture to send. And best of all was curling up that night, breathing in the scent of sandalwood, and knowing without a doubt that I'd gotten the best present anyone ever could have given me.
I don't watch TV. If you know me, you know that over the past four years I've watched roughly four shows. Crossing Jordan. The Bachelor. LOST. And MXC. ... though I try to keep that under cover. Now recently, and by recently I mean within this past week or so, I have found a new, wonderful sin called "The Office". Now I'd heard about it, but never actually experienced the awkward unbearableness that is actually viewing the show. I've had six hour marathons that got me through the first and second season in all of three days. I have my brother to thank for that one. He calls me up and is all "You should watch this! The guy on the show named Jim looks just like Dominic! He even does that mouth thing!" To which I responded with something coy and vaguely perverse about he hadn't seen Dominic anywhere near long enough to know what sort of things he does with his mouth. Regardless, LOST is on hiatus and I'm about ready to kill the show anyway for all the irrationality on it, so I figured, why not? Dreamysigh. Best show ever. I am now halfway through season three. I don't know how many seasons there are, but I plan on finishing by the end of the week. And Jim does look just like Dominic. Little bit eerie. Gotta say.
In conclusion, I should not wake up at 6 AM thinking that people are breaking into my house. Because then I wind up writing things like this.