Musings of a Winter Wren
Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in the solar system, has erupted on my face. The folks from USGS just called. They’re going to send a team of scientists out tomorrow morning to take some measurements. I typically don't waste time brooding over personal aesthetics, but lately my hairline has seen more activity than the bloody Pacific Rim.
Early this morning in his sleep, RS said: "If I lived with these color coordinated sex dispersed tools." Where does he come up with this stuff??
Don't attempt to give your sweetie a b.j. when you have a runny nose. All that snorting and gurgling is unspeakably gross. God Wren. Just leave the boy alone.
I'm sick. I feel like someone came into my bedroom last night and stuffed my head with those awful squeaky packing peanuts. You know, the pink bowtie kind? They are pressing up against my eardrums and behind my eyes.
One of my environmental science students composed a paper about wetlands in America. He started off well enough, citing facts and figures, explaining the importance of wetland habitat, biodiversity and rates of destruction. He also had a lot of quantitative evidence to support his thesis. It was very good. My hand was cramped around my stumpy little red pencil, scribbling accolades along the margins, that is, until the last paragraph where he suddenly started talking about human population growth (okay, I’m listening) and how the United States would be better off environmentally if we stopped letting immigrants into this country (okay, you lost me). Say what? My eyebrow actually coiled into the shape of a question mark. Was he was actually asserting our wetland habitat is threatened because of illegal immigrants? Okay sure they’re here, folding bed sheets in motels or picking berries for $1.25 an hour, but I highly doubt they’re sneaking across the boarder in hardhats, grasping blueprints for strip malls. Furthermore, if human population growth is a global problem, than it shouldn’t matter, environmentally, if they are here or there. It’s not like air pollution or water pollution cares about geo-political boundaries.
The domestication of dogs was hotly debated last night chez Casey and Maria’s. Casey absolutely refused to believe that all domestic dog breeds came from a single wolf-like ancestor. Instead he hypothesized that a long time ago wild breeds of Chihuahuas and Yellow Labs roamed the earth until humans tamed them. As he spoke I tried to imagine a wild pack of Chihuahuas, but had a really hard time doing that without also imagining wild herds of plush, upholstered ottomans and a field of wild squeaky toys. I told him I had read that dogs were domesticated before agriculture some fourteen thousand years ago, but not even three zeros and a comma would crush his skepticism. Finally, Deo (their lab mix) stirred and liked his balls, which pretty much concluded the discussion.
Look! Look there, below my last post. It's a comment. I got a comment! When I first started posting on this site I didn't have that feature. Not because I was making some kind of conscious or thoughtful decision. I just wasn't aware of that option. So. Recently, inspired by boredom, I changed the format and inadvertently changed some other things as well. And now lookit! A human being.
This rainy, drizzly, cool weather makes me feel maudlin and introspective. I told my math class that if I do not show up tomorrow, it's because I quit my job and joined a band. Nothing seems to be going well today. And when I opened my bag of mini carrots, I found that one had died in the bag, thus sliming the rest of the carrots. Now there's dead carrot snot all over everything.
I met my ex-husband at a nearby coffee shop and immediately, it was apparent to me why we divorced. I asked him if he felt bitter about anything or if he felt resolved, because his emails are so curt and he never asks how I'm doing. He gave me his most stoic, most placid expression as he assured me that there are no hard feelings. Holy Christ on acid! What. Ever. I have known this man for eight years and lived with him for four, and in that time I have learned to tell exactly when he is lying through is teeth. The sad thing is he believes everything he says. He's positively artful about the whole self-deception thing. He really ought to be studied.
RS and I have been arguing a lot lately about money. I know, how cliche is that? Why can't we argue about dental floss or industrial cranes? In a nut shell, RS is more live in the moment when it comes to money, while I have always been more inclined to dig a little hole in the ground like a squirrel, and cache my cash. Even when I was seven I saved all the lucky money my mother's relatives bestowed upon my brother and I. Pit Pat would rip into it immediately, spending it on video games and miles of bubble tape. But I would carefully open one end of each shiny red envelope, peek at the crisp green contents, smile and then put it away. Don't get the wrong idea, I would never just sit on my savings like a miser. Rather I would accumulate it and then spend it on Christmas gifts for my family and my pet hamster or buy some really special, thought out thing for myself. I guess the point is, I always had some. I always made sure I had some.
The three sexiest accents in English are:
One night in his sleep, RS said: “This guy is face off," and "stuff it in a big jar of wanting.”
Late this afternoon I was sitting in the Pink Chair reading. Crooked was seated contentedly on my lap kneading the holy fuck out of my leg when she was suddenly startled and took off. I did not think twice about this abrupt departure because, you know, she has these kitty obligations and impulses that I can't even begin to understand and so, I don't question them. Instead I rubbed my pin cushion thigh and started brushing away the fine stubborn strands of fur that were sticking to the inside of my nose. That is when I heard a distinct scuffling noise coming from another room. I got up and followed the noise until I reached the bedroom. There, perched on the footboard of my bed sat a grey squirrel. The mangy little rodent had chewed a hole in the screen and just invited himself in. I shouted, "Out Vermin, Out!" and threw a sock at it.
RS has an older brother whose only daughter is a little over a year. Lo, the first and only grandchild in the family. Needless to say, there is much doting. I really can’t say enough about the doting. It’s really very dote-ful, doting and I daresay, rather dotish as well. Did I mention the doting? And don’t get me wrong, she’s a little muffin, a little jellybean, a little peanut, who is completely deserving of much doting, but it gives me a toothache sometimes to think of it. And, the whole scenario seems to kick up old, second child feelings in RS.
I feel oh so melty today. Tuna melty. I have had my coffee and it's buzzing around in my gut, but even so, my mind is like, "ahhhhhhhh, no."
I had some chips and homemade salsa for lunch today. The salsa must have had five million serrano chilies and satan's hoof ground up in it because it was hot! hot! hot! I have sustained third degree chemical burns in my mouth. And you know if it's burning like this today, it's going to be burning somewhere else tomorrow. Mm-hmm.
This evening I met my friend Jane at the new Irish Pub across the river. Cute spot, nice woodwork, but the waitresses are filled with bile! Their smiles seethe with hatred! Anyway, Jane told me how she had told my old co-workers about my divorce and subsequent relationship with RS and how those old co-workers met that information with shock and confusion. Ah. Hem. I would just like to take this moment and to say that I'm motherfucking sick and motherfucking tired of people and their motherfucking opinions about my life! You all thought my ex husband was perfect. You are all fools!
Usually I sign my quarterly contract a few days before the quarter begins. But alas, today is the fourth day of class and I still have not signed my contract. When I first received it, I took it home to compare it with the last fall (same time span, same number of contact hours) and found it to be some 12% less per paycheck. We are studying percents in my math classes so I thought about using this as a real life math example, but I forget the conversion between peanuts, the currency I'm paid in, and real people money. Not that I'm complaining. I rather like peanuts. And I got some complimentary dry erase markers from the bookstore too, which makes everything alright.
Guests Attended:
That one day, while waiting for the bus she saw the following etched into the bus shelter: "Candy is good food. You should eat some every day."
Dear 您好,
Happy Teachers\'Day!
I wish this card would give my best wish to you!
I miss you. and may you happy everyday.
yuanli
年9月9日 16:41
I had a student in my Environmental Science class yesterday ask in all honesty, "Is this going to be, like, some tree hugger class?" To this I replied, "Yes, yes it will. In fact, twenty-five percent of your grade will be based on your tree hugging proficiency and technique." I secretly etched the word 'maroon' next to his name on my roster.
Since today is the first day of school, I was expecting some real horror show dreams last night. Instead, they were just curious. I dreamt I was walking through my home town's downtown with RS when I ran into a bunch of my high school classmates all spilling out of a building. I ran into Kevin W., Jason S., and Kelly L., and asked them what was going on. They told me it was the ten year class reunion, just finished. I cursed my school for not giving me an invitation. The three of them piled into a car. Kevin was writing down his contact information for me, so I got into the back seat and as I was leaning towards the dashboard, I felt Jason grab my ham hocks and say, "you have a nice ass, but then you always had a nice ass." I brushed his meat hooks away from my rump, annoyed, and told him to cut it out. Kevin finally produced his address written on a pay check stub. It said Bahrain, which impressed me. But when I looked closer it said Bahrain, Iowa.
Fall quarter starts tomorrow. I have been on holiday for six weeks, so the only way I know how to bring myself into another year is with humor and hard, hard liquor. The following are three separate answers to a test question given last year. I copied them verbatim.
Some friends of ours had a house warming party yesterday night. I drank PBR and ate chocolate covered peanuts. At one point, someone in all seriousness exclaimed, "Hey! We haven't had our annual naked party yet!" Drunk shock ensued. He promptly explained that it's not some kooky sex party, but a regular old party with beer and food and games and friends and heaps of naked bums! And by games, I mean twister, okay, not Battle Ship.
Your are brandishing your butt floss in low rider jeans.
After not hearing from him in months, I got an email from my ex-husband. He has a box of things that he wants to be rid of. I imagine he wants to give it to me so he can effectively flush me from his past. So he can lock our memories fast away in that dark abyss, with only his emotions for company. All of that painful shit seems to exists somewhere else for him anyway. When I see him I wonder, will I cooly ask him for that chrome chair I stole from work, or will I point an accusatory finger and shrill, "I may not have been ready for marriage, but I did love you. The sight of you sleeping use to make me swoon ! But you had to keep me at arms length, did you? You fucked this up too!"
