tea berry-blue

Unpacking boxes, I am finding all kinds of things I forgot about.

Tonight, I was about to pack it in and go to to bed at about 1:30.

Then, I found the longest love letter I've ever written. It's a book. One of those blank journals? I don't even know how many pages it is. Definitely fifty; maybe a hundred. It took me a full three months to write.

I obviously didn't send it. I feel like Beatrice Baudelaire. And there is a very reckless, very hopeful part of me that is tempted to send it now, years after the fact, because I don't feel any differently than I did when I wrote it. I do about some things; I've grown up, I've mellowed out, I've become more pragmatic and poised.

But not so pragmatic that I throw out fifty-page love letters I'll never send. It took me till three before I put it down-- and I didn't finish it, mind. I set it down, skimming through the second half. Only skimming. Finding the part where I finally declare "I love you," a full three quarters through the letter.

I am finding poetry and stories. A novella, illustrated, that was another love letter to someone else, also never sent. Never given, I should say, it was meant as a gift and then somewhere along the way I realized the person it was intended for would never care that I had written a book for them and them alone. I don't know. Maybe they would. There was a time when they would have cared immensely.

It's pretty wretched prose now, though. I would be mortified if someone gave this to me.

So far, now that the love-letter-book is found (and oh, how telling it is, and wonderful to read the intellectual curiosity I had at that age at work and on a page and swelling with fervor to find someone else who understood it and challenged it without competition), the only thing not found that I truly care about is my Pez collection. What does that say about me, really, that the things with the deepest meaning to me as reminders of a youth well-spent are an unsent love-letter that took a season to write, a Ouija Board from 1920, my tarot decks, collections of juvenile writing, books, and my Pez dispensers?

Really, what does it mean?

The most wonderful thing about reading that letter is now I feel inspired to live up to being the person I hoped I would be when I wrote it. And oh, god, I want the person I wrote it to to be what they wanted to be.

Remember, all of you, even though this letter was not to you (because it was only to one person, so it could not be to all of you, and it was to someone I knew before the advent of this journal, and that rules out all but a select few of you), that there is something in the universe that is deserving of your deep and complete love.

Unpacking boxes, I am finding all kinds of things I forgot about.

Tonight, I was about to pack it in and go to to bed at about 1:30.

Then, I found the longest love letter I've ever written. It's a book. One of those blank journals? I don't even know how many pages it is. Definitely fifty; maybe a hundred. It took me a full three months to write.

I obviously didn't send it. I feel like Beatrice Baudelaire. And there is a very reckless, very hopeful part of me that is tempted to send it now, years after the fact, because I don't feel any differently than I did when I wrote it. I do about some things; I've grown up, I've mellowed out, I've become more pragmatic and poised.

But not so pragmatic that I throw out fifty-page love letters I'll never send. It took me till three before I put it down-- and I didn't finish it, mind. I set it down, skimming through the second half. Only skimming. Finding the part where I finally declare "I love you," a full three quarters through the letter.

I am finding poetry and stories. A novella, illustrated, that was another love letter to someone else, also never sent. Never given, I should say, it was meant as a gift and then somewhere along the way I realized the person it was intended for would never care that I had written a book for them and them alone. I don't know. Maybe they would. There was a time when they would have cared immensely.

It's pretty wretched prose now, though. I would be mortified if someone gave this to me.

So far, now that the love-letter-book is found (and oh, how telling it is, and wonderful to read the intellectual curiosity I had at that age at work and on a page and swelling with fervor to find someone else who understood it and challenged it without competition), the only thing not found that I truly care about is my Pez collection. What does that say about me, really, that the things with the deepest meaning to me as reminders of a youth well-spent are an unsent love-letter that took a season to write, a Ouija Board from 1920, my tarot decks, collections of juvenile writing, books, and my Pez dispensers?

Really, what does it mean?

The most wonderful thing about reading that letter is now I feel inspired to live up to being the person I hoped I would be when I wrote it. And oh, god, I want the person I wrote it to to be what they wanted to be.

Remember, all of you, even though this letter was not to you (because it was only to one person, so it could not be to all of you, and it was to someone I knew before the advent of this journal, and that rules out all but a select few of you), that there is something in the universe that is deserving of your deep and complete love.

1.

2.


( 3. )

4.
The Angelina Jolie
Anne With Impervious Airs
Near & Nearly
All from Colin's album, Twilight, c.2000

BUT IN FEBRUARY



OMG OMG OMG

Dude, so, guys, I suddenly have access to all this stuff that I haven't had in four years. Books and clothes and doodads that I forgot I owned. So much STUFF. I don't even know what to do with it all! And the chickens! All the chickens are out of their boxes! Well, some of the chickens are out of their boxes.

And books. Holy shit the books.

So my father has a new theory. This theory is that my mother used to live on this farm in a previous life, and so all this life, the farm has been calling back to her. And everything she has every bought in her life has been meant for this house, and the house has been telling her what to buy without her ever knowing. And now when she was ready for it, the house finally called her back to live.

My father also, when I woke up this morning, gave me a hug and said, "I'm glad you're Tamara. Because Nancy wouldn't have been a good name for you."

In other, LOST-related news:

gildedage (1:44:17 PM): women love men with huge love sticks
zia_narratora (1:44:35 PM): HOW DID THEY KNOW?
gildedage (1:44:45 PM): SECRETS
gildedage (1:44:56 PM): THEY MUST HAVE A WOMAN ON THE BOAT
zia_narratora (1:45:14 PM): OH BENRY DO YOU HAVE A HUGE LOVE STICK?
gildedage (1:45:31 PM): ONLY FOR SAYID

BUT IN FEBRUARY



OMG OMG OMG

Dude, so, guys, I suddenly have access to all this stuff that I haven't had in four years. Books and clothes and doodads that I forgot I owned. So much STUFF. I don't even know what to do with it all! And the chickens! All the chickens are out of their boxes! Well, some of the chickens are out of their boxes.

And books. Holy shit the books.

So my father has a new theory. This theory is that my mother used to live on this farm in a previous life, and so all this life, the farm has been calling back to her. And everything she has every bought in her life has been meant for this house, and the house has been telling her what to buy without her ever knowing. And now when she was ready for it, the house finally called her back to live.

My father also, when I woke up this morning, gave me a hug and said, "I'm glad you're Tamara. Because Nancy wouldn't have been a good name for you."

In other, LOST-related news:

gildedage (1:44:17 PM): women love men with huge love sticks
zia_narratora (1:44:35 PM): HOW DID THEY KNOW?
gildedage (1:44:45 PM): SECRETS
gildedage (1:44:56 PM): THEY MUST HAVE A WOMAN ON THE BOAT
zia_narratora (1:45:14 PM): OH BENRY DO YOU HAVE A HUGE LOVE STICK?
gildedage (1:45:31 PM): ONLY FOR SAYID

HOUSE

My father is totally being a freak and hiding things in weirdass places and seeing how long it takes my mom to find them. Right now, there is a Santa statue on one of the cross-beams in the kitchen. Oh, Daddy, daddy.

Also, the house has an intercom system. This means I totally have been calling my parents on the intercom at every possible opportunity.

Then, stolen from oxymoronassoc because I thought this was fun:

1) Make a list of 10 characters.
2) Assign each character a number.
3) Without telling anyone who's on the list or the character's assigned number, get questions from your flist about what they'd like to know about them. IE: "If 3 and 4 were trapped in a cave together with only a blanket and a toothpick, what would they do?" (The more random the better!)
4) Post the answers and who was who on the list.

1.
2. Radical Edward, Cowboy Bebop. gildedage
3. Mad-Eye Moody, Harry Potter. ninepointfivemm
4.
5. Death, Sandman. ninepointfivemm
6. Mr. Norrell, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, frayedviolets
7. Amanda, Ugly Betty. rhikat
8.
9. Sunny Baudelaire, A Series of Unfortunate Events, liret
10. Audrey Horne, Twin Peaks, dootsie

So ask away!

This morning, I got to go see the house my parents are buying.

It is incredible. I mean, you talk dreamhouse...this place is one of the most incredible houses I have ever seen in my life, and it is going to belong to my parents.

My room in their house is going to have a hayloft in it. Their room will too. Now, I'm naturally not intending on living there for a lot of time, but once in a while I will have the most incredible room in the world.

I am really, really happy for them. This has been three years coming.

I took a whole bunch of pictures, but I forgot to pull them off the camera before I left my mom's, so, shoot.

Then, I came back into the city. On the train, the girl behind me was having THE MOST CONTROL-FREAKY STALKER CONVERSATION EVER.

Apparently, she decided to go through her boyfriend's text messages because he WAS ALONE AT A PARTY WITHOUT HER FOR THREE HOURS. And she found one that said "Was I a bad girl last night?" from a number that wasn't stored in his phone. SO SHE SEARCHED ALL THE DOCS ON HIS PHONE and found the number in a separate 'notes' file with his sister's phone number and his ex wife's phone number.

Don't you love how much I know about this girl's love life? YEAH.

SO

Then she called the number and a girl picked up and she demanded the girl tell her who she was and the girl got upset and hung up.

AND SHE DECIDED THIS WAS PROOF THAT HER BOYFRIEND WAS HAVING AN AFFAIR.

So then then then she confronted her boyfriend ABOUT HIS AFFAIR without telling him HOW SHE KNEW. And FOR SOME REASON he accused her of being crazy and imagining things and FOR SOME REASON now he's not speaking to her.

And so she's saying to her friend, on the phone, how this is proof, right? This is proof he's cheating! And now she's going to go to the bar that the party was at and ask the bartender if he saw her boyfriend with any other girls before she got there.

Seriously.

So this other girl sat down next to me toward the end of the story, when I just totally about to burst with the psychoness of it all. So I wrote on the back of my ticket receipt "The woman behind us is having the most control-freaky stalker conversation ever." and handed it to her. And she cracked up. And then we made faces at each other for the rest of the call.

Which sadly, wasn't very long.

This morning, I got to go see the house my parents are buying.

It is incredible. I mean, you talk dreamhouse...this place is one of the most incredible houses I have ever seen in my life, and it is going to belong to my parents.

My room in their house is going to have a hayloft in it. Their room will too. Now, I'm naturally not intending on living there for a lot of time, but once in a while I will have the most incredible room in the world.

I am really, really happy for them. This has been three years coming.

I took a whole bunch of pictures, but I forgot to pull them off the camera before I left my mom's, so, shoot.

Then, I came back into the city. On the train, the girl behind me was having THE MOST CONTROL-FREAKY STALKER CONVERSATION EVER.

Apparently, she decided to go through her boyfriend's text messages because he WAS ALONE AT A PARTY WITHOUT HER FOR THREE HOURS. And she found one that said "Was I a bad girl last night?" from a number that wasn't stored in his phone. SO SHE SEARCHED ALL THE DOCS ON HIS PHONE and found the number in a separate 'notes' file with his sister's phone number and his ex wife's phone number.

Don't you love how much I know about this girl's love life? YEAH.

SO

Then she called the number and a girl picked up and she demanded the girl tell her who she was and the girl got upset and hung up.

AND SHE DECIDED THIS WAS PROOF THAT HER BOYFRIEND WAS HAVING AN AFFAIR.

So then then then she confronted her boyfriend ABOUT HIS AFFAIR without telling him HOW SHE KNEW. And FOR SOME REASON he accused her of being crazy and imagining things and FOR SOME REASON now he's not speaking to her.

And so she's saying to her friend, on the phone, how this is proof, right? This is proof he's cheating! And now she's going to go to the bar that the party was at and ask the bartender if he saw her boyfriend with any other girls before she got there.

Seriously.

So this other girl sat down next to me toward the end of the story, when I just totally about to burst with the psychoness of it all. So I wrote on the back of my ticket receipt "The woman behind us is having the most control-freaky stalker conversation ever." and handed it to her. And she cracked up. And then we made faces at each other for the rest of the call.

Which sadly, wasn't very long.

First, handwriting meme stolen from skirmish_of_wit

( Handwriting Meme )

Second, Burgers & Cupcakes went out of business! I forgot to say this the other day, but this is the place I took well, pretty much everyone who came to visit me from out of town ever. Aw! Sad. atomicfiction and I tried to go there and it was NOT THERE. WAS FOR RENT. Sad.

I already said sad.

Going to Maine this week for work. This has been a pretty crazy few weeks. I went to Old Navy today and they had an insane sale which was good. What was frustrating is that my pants don't fit me for the second time since the summer. I'm actually up to a normal weight but I feel kind of out of shape now and this is the first time I haven't been a stick since before I was 25 and it means I actually have the kind of chub people my age get. Not that it's a lot of chub, but I'd rather have some more muscle. cacophonesque suggested I join sparkpeople so I might do that so I can get in shape. The pants are frustrating, though.

There are no good movies out this week. Which may be a good thing, since I wouldn't have the opportunity to see many of them if there were. Is anyone else vaguely disturbed by what appears to be the rampant, for-lack-of-a-better-word, blaxploitation going on in How She Move? Like, what, if we use urban language for the title, that's supposed to make people think it's actually being made for black people by black people when it's actually an MTV movie? Sorry, but Ian Iqbal Rashid is not Spike Lee and the movie seems like a watered-down, overdramatized piece of crap. It was kind of embarrassing to even have to sit through the preview of it before The Great Debaters, because it was like, "HEY IF YOU LIKE MOVIES ABOUT AFRICAN-AMERICANS OVERCOMING ADVERSITY, TRY THIS TOO. ONLY OUR ADVERSITY IS OVERCOME BY DANCING IN SEXY CLOTHES." Yeeeah. If I'm totally missing something and someone else knows more about this movie that says this isn't what it is, I apologize for the assumption, but it's been bugging me and I just needed to get that out there.

And then there is some real news. I have been kind of not talking about this because my parents didn't want to jinx it this time, but it sounds like they are finally buying a house. And it is a fucking incredible house. It's up in Connecticut and it's remade from an old barn, and it HAS A HAYLOFT IN THE HOUSE. Actually, multiple ones. It's amazing. We're going up there Saturday morning to deal with some things, and I'll try to remember to take pictures on my mom's camera (I am still cameraless as mine disappeared the night of Colin's party and I haven't seen it since.) So, yay.

Now time for sleeping. Have to actually go to work tomorrow, which will be weird.

( house spoilers )

More after the show. So much better than last season.

Seriously, and to not spoil people, I was one of those people who had pretty much given up on the show by the end of last season. This episode? Gave me new faith that it will be good again.