Perspections
Why is that everytime I hear "Sarah Palin" I think of "Para Sailin'?"
Recently I've gotten over a major head cold that came on strong during the second half of the day, and resulted in my limp, lifeless body doubled over on a bed of used tissues, watching The Discovery Channel for 16 hours, with each limb searching for a new spot to cool down on. I'm still sniffly, foggy, and though fully functioning, still very much in need of attention.
During this time I stayed home and let Jeffrey take my truck to work while I lay motionless in the dark quiet basement in Boscawen, and when my father returned from work, he didn't think I was there. I was too exhausted to tell him. It's quite interesting to here what people have to say about you on the phone to your grandmother, or to their neighbors when they pop by unexpectedly, or even just muttering to themselves irately when they think you're not listening. Finally, I got sick of it and snuck out into the night for a bike ride. I guess it's one of those life-lessons when you realize you aren't always what you think people think of you, and don't assume said people to be anything either. Wait, what? I guess it means you should never talk shit unless you are on a desolate tundra, and even then you should whisper!
Halloween is coming and I'm very excited, seeking out spooky adventures, pausing to look at early decorations, and loitering around the party store downtown with child-like eyes sparkling with imagination. This is my Christmas. And being as such, I like to start celebrating it about three weeks too early, building it up slowly towards a crushing disappointment. I have a few costumes in mind, but I shan't reveal my secrets, nor do I want to here about any one else's. I'm planning on going to Salem, going to the pumpkinfest in Keene, and finding out where that haunted ski-lift ride is taking place this year. It's not so much the celebrating death that I enjoy, though partly so; it's more the universal morbid mardi gras feel linking us together, pretending to be someone (or thing) else, laughing in the face of fear, and how eating your weight in chocolate nougat and food coloring is socially acceptable.
Someday when I'm financially... abilified, I would love to create my own haunted house, and throw extravagant Halloween parties. And not just with the scary people I know, in the scary places I've already been. I ponder such things while I'm jogging down at Memorial Field, pausing to connect constellations in the darkening northern hemisphere, and feel my sweat begin to defrost the cool October air. Jeffrey and I are taking a break, as I feel I am losing him to alcohol. I stormed off a few days ago at a party early in the morning, but not before dumping a can of beer on his head. He wanted to stay and drink, as usual. I feel bad, but I need this alone time to really manage my future. I feel that I'm maturing lately and becoming an "adult," and my encroaching silver hairs are starting to vouch for it.
Picking apples and picking my wedge.
Recently I've gotten over a major head cold that came on strong during the second half of the day, and resulted in my limp, lifeless body doubled over on a bed of used tissues, watching The Discovery Channel for 16 hours, with each limb searching for a new spot to cool down on. I'm still sniffly, foggy, and though fully functioning, still very much in need of attention.
During this time I stayed home and let Jeffrey take my truck to work while I lay motionless in the dark quiet basement in Boscawen, and when my father returned from work, he didn't think I was there. I was too exhausted to tell him. It's quite interesting to here what people have to say about you on the phone to your grandmother, or to their neighbors when they pop by unexpectedly, or even just muttering to themselves irately when they think you're not listening. Finally, I got sick of it and snuck out into the night for a bike ride. I guess it's one of those life-lessons when you realize you aren't always what you think people think of you, and don't assume said people to be anything either. Wait, what? I guess it means you should never talk shit unless you are on a desolate tundra, and even then you should whisper!
Halloween is coming and I'm very excited, seeking out spooky adventures, pausing to look at early decorations, and loitering around the party store downtown with child-like eyes sparkling with imagination. This is my Christmas. And being as such, I like to start celebrating it about three weeks too early, building it up slowly towards a crushing disappointment. I have a few costumes in mind, but I shan't reveal my secrets, nor do I want to here about any one else's. I'm planning on going to Salem, going to the pumpkinfest in Keene, and finding out where that haunted ski-lift ride is taking place this year. It's not so much the celebrating death that I enjoy, though partly so; it's more the universal morbid mardi gras feel linking us together, pretending to be someone (or thing) else, laughing in the face of fear, and how eating your weight in chocolate nougat and food coloring is socially acceptable.
Someday when I'm financially... abilified, I would love to create my own haunted house, and throw extravagant Halloween parties. And not just with the scary people I know, in the scary places I've already been. I ponder such things while I'm jogging down at Memorial Field, pausing to connect constellations in the darkening northern hemisphere, and feel my sweat begin to defrost the cool October air. Jeffrey and I are taking a break, as I feel I am losing him to alcohol. I stormed off a few days ago at a party early in the morning, but not before dumping a can of beer on his head. He wanted to stay and drink, as usual. I feel bad, but I need this alone time to really manage my future. I feel that I'm maturing lately and becoming an "adult," and my encroaching silver hairs are starting to vouch for it.
Picking apples and picking my wedge.