I'm hoping the ick that I've started the day with will be banished by the glorious drugs from SP.
I feel like ass and don't feel like celebrating at all. But I will make the crescent rolls and go visit the peeps.
A & G in the hood.
D & M on northside.
M near Carytown....not sure I can swing that, but I'll try.
The busiest evening in weeks and I'm feeling like staying in bed. Bleh.
Still heating the house with the oven. So very sad and hilarious at the same time.
I can't wait to have my own place. Or to move the heck outta the RVA for a while. I need a change.
____________________________
And the more optimistic part of the blog:
The things I'm happy about at the close of 2008....
my friends take care of me | I feel like dating again | tons of stories related to my decision to date again | I don't see the last person that broke my heart...and on the off chance that I do, I feel sorry for him and don't want to be with him | I have steady freelance and a nice boss | I have enough money to travel | I have amazing friends that let me stay with them when I travel | I'm poor enough not to really be affected by the shitty economy | my neighbors are nice | I have breakfast / brunch regularly with awesome peeps | I love where I live (even though I need to get out of here for a while) | I feel loved and supported on NYE 08/09
Love and preciousness everybody.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Christmas Eve 2008
A lazy beginning to my day.
Distractedly cleaning my house. Half-heartedly working.
Heating the house with the oven. Jen would be crying to see this.
Finally get the motivation to go get my crack coffee from Buzzy's.
Friends at the Hill Café. They close at 9 tonight so we can eat here. Gift the candy to my neighbor who says it looks like I'm delivering drugs.
Buzzy's is empty. I order my food.
My phone rings. It's 4 and I can't believe it.
I finish my order. Answer my phone.
There's time before the ride home. A walk around my favorite part of the city.
I'll wait there so we can walk over together.
Trying to eat now. Trying to breathe. Trying to not be anxious. Trying to read. It's not working.
Red shoes at my table. Walking to Libby Hill. The minutes pass like a flash.
Someone calls. He's saying "my friend Jolinda" to the person on the phone.
I think it's the first time I've heard it spoken.
The park is lovely as usual on this warm, grey day. There's talk of levels and layering of music. Painting colors at dusk. Tweaking parts to create a feeling. Color correction and controlling expression through the details. We're geeking out about the same things, but not the same.
There's a yellow house for sale at the end of the block. In my favorite park. He wants to see it too. We explore. The back yard is awesome. Wouldn't this be a great place for a cookout? Agreed. Amazing view of the city. Quiet block. Old trees. Lots of work though.
Walking and talking. Finding and knowing your own expression. Knowing where you want to go. Having confidence to go your own way. The 3-week trip to the other side.
Excitement about the latest recording.
A new variation. Of course I'd like to hear it. And when I do, I can't help but smile. Sound sculptures. Created piece by piece. I listen to it in the kitchen. Then I have to listen through headphones. It's amazing either way. The vocals, claps, stomps, that piano from the coffee shop, slide guitar fading in and out. I'm so through. And I know it. Actually I've known it for a while now.
It's time to go. Brief hugs. Like the kind between pals.
I try hard not to be disappointed. This has been an awesome time. And I'm glad to have been here. Today.
7 p
Hill Café again. Dinner with my bff SP and K to the J.
It's so nice to have this place close by and open on CE08.
Deliciousness.
I've had a great day.
Distractedly cleaning my house. Half-heartedly working.
Heating the house with the oven. Jen would be crying to see this.
Finally get the motivation to go get my crack coffee from Buzzy's.
Friends at the Hill Café. They close at 9 tonight so we can eat here. Gift the candy to my neighbor who says it looks like I'm delivering drugs.
Buzzy's is empty. I order my food.
My phone rings. It's 4 and I can't believe it.
I finish my order. Answer my phone.
There's time before the ride home. A walk around my favorite part of the city.
I'll wait there so we can walk over together.
Trying to eat now. Trying to breathe. Trying to not be anxious. Trying to read. It's not working.
Red shoes at my table. Walking to Libby Hill. The minutes pass like a flash.
Someone calls. He's saying "my friend Jolinda" to the person on the phone.
I think it's the first time I've heard it spoken.
The park is lovely as usual on this warm, grey day. There's talk of levels and layering of music. Painting colors at dusk. Tweaking parts to create a feeling. Color correction and controlling expression through the details. We're geeking out about the same things, but not the same.
There's a yellow house for sale at the end of the block. In my favorite park. He wants to see it too. We explore. The back yard is awesome. Wouldn't this be a great place for a cookout? Agreed. Amazing view of the city. Quiet block. Old trees. Lots of work though.
Walking and talking. Finding and knowing your own expression. Knowing where you want to go. Having confidence to go your own way. The 3-week trip to the other side.
Excitement about the latest recording.
A new variation. Of course I'd like to hear it. And when I do, I can't help but smile. Sound sculptures. Created piece by piece. I listen to it in the kitchen. Then I have to listen through headphones. It's amazing either way. The vocals, claps, stomps, that piano from the coffee shop, slide guitar fading in and out. I'm so through. And I know it. Actually I've known it for a while now.
It's time to go. Brief hugs. Like the kind between pals.
I try hard not to be disappointed. This has been an awesome time. And I'm glad to have been here. Today.
7 p
Hill Café again. Dinner with my bff SP and K to the J.
It's so nice to have this place close by and open on CE08.
Deliciousness.
I've had a great day.
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