You might notice

some old-ass posts going up here. I’m in the process of importing my old Livejournal posts, for the sake of convenience more than anything.

It’s a little awkward, partly becauase a lot of the culture and conversation went on in comments, which doesn’t export. Plus some of what I say doesn’t make sense, when I talk in profile-speak (like “xxtigerUs tells me that…” for instance). But oh well.

I have decided to go back and tag them. All. Lord help me.

I have also noticed that I was one hell of an avid-ass blogger back then. And I wrote some good stuff! What happened? Do I offer any excuses?

This winter sucked the juice right out of me. No lie. I got nothing else.

Destruction

I just found out that someone else I know is getting separated from her husband. She just moved into her own place clear on the other side of town and everything. How many couples my age does that make? Three? Four? No, five, maybe. Six! I’m losing count. And I’m not even thirty yet.

There was a time, like maybe two years ago, when this would have given me a little threatening needle-prick, this would’ve gotten my hackles up. You know, as a married person who publicly is so sure of herself, and her rock-solid marriage. But since then I’ve seen that being married isn’t about being rock-solid at all. I’m not still married because I’m good at it.

Now I’m just sad. I don’t feel separate, like just like my friends are splitting up; I feel like a cookie being eaten. I wonder if my friends and family are a representative sample. I wonder if half of the people I know who get married will split up,

like America.

regarding photos

I can’t make heads or tails of the WordPress photo limitations, despite the hordes of discussion communities on the topic (shudder). My intention is to keep photo journals of my garden and other pretty things (more back-dated photos to come, so keep scrolling down, people!), but if I hit my limit, we’ll see if I’ll pay for an upgrade. Probably not. More likely I’ll start linking to my Flickr page, which I love.

But in the meantime, all is well and strewn with photos on my pretty page. Let’s hope it stays that way.

Resale shop, Roscoe Village

[05/04/2008, Saturday afternoon, in dishes & sundry]

MOM: Don’t touch NOTHING, okay?
GIRL: (silent, wanders)
MOM: Sweetie? So what are you gonna touch?
GIRL: (dreamily, reaching towards shelf) Anything…
MOM: NOTHING! Don’t touch NOTHING!
GIRL: (silent)
MOM: So what are you gonna touch?

Mesclun on April 25th

Whenever I say “mesclun,” my mom gives a little start. She repeats the word, pronouncing it a little more like, “Mescaline?” I don’t know if she thinks it’s funny every time, or if she just forgets. More photos.

Progress

More photos.

Planted

My mom visited for a few days, and it turned out to be the best visit maybe I think we’ve ever had. We built in an extra sorta flex day, so that she could leave if she wanted, or stay if she wanted. She ended up staying until Saturday, “because now I want to help you get that garden planted!” We spent Friday shopping for seeds and topsoil and just turning the whole thing over and raking it through. Heavy, black, clayey stuff it is, too. I’m afraid it’s going to be troublesome. My mom made these little markers after we planted on Saturday. More.

Garden just before planting

See more garden photos.

Fourth-graders, dude.

Fourth-graders. That’s who I’m going to be interviewing with next week. Or auditioning with, rather. They’re turning me loose on a classroom of fourth-graders for 40 minutes to see what I can do.

Fuck.

birthday schmurthday.

My birthday is this weekend, and I have a sneaking suspicion that nobody’s going to come out for it. I think I probably didn’t give them enough notice, considering the survival mode that I’ve been living in, time-wise. And some people probably aren’t into what I planned. And some of the people who would be are out of town or whatever.

I think I might hate birthdays. Mine, I mean. Other people’s are fine. But mine I think are for the birds. I want to feel special and I usually end up feeling like a nuisance. I wish I didn’t care. Bleh.