insert scintillating subject line here
Aug. 16th, 2008 04:45 pmIt's been a gorgeous couple of days, I must say; extremely refreshing. The odd thing is that I've been doing a lot more work than usual, as well as having Events to attend, and yet I'm feeling completely un-rushed, and almost as though I have more free time than I usually do. I've been reading for long stretches at a time (I just finished Orson Scott Card's Speaker for the Dead, which -- gorblimey. I can't remember the last time I've been so utterly absorbed in a book.), baking, streaming BtVS on the laptop, watching Once, playing music, doing Useful Internet Things -- so far the only Thing I Always Mean To Do When Everyone's Gone that I haven't done is any writing, and since I've been doing so many other useful things, both practical and emotionally fulfilling, I am emphatically not feeling guilty about it. Furthermore, laptop.
Last night was glorious -- after Once and a little straightening (and a lot of live streaming WUMB), I put on my apostrophe dress and my red shoes and the Angelmobile and I took off for the theatre to see Sarah and Hannah in the Teen Theatre showcase, which consisted of a lot of short plays that I very much enjoyed. Victoria was there as well, and Alessandra's brothers Brennan and Jesse, so it was a merry time. After the play there was a bit of hobnobbing before we headed our separate ways (well, separate as in "everyone else in the Meholicks' van, me on a bicycle"). Riding at night is lovely; the air was just a little chilly and there was wind in my hair and the sky was dotted over with stars and a brightly glimmering nearly-full moon. It was so unbearably lovely that as soon as I got home and had my bicycle in the garage and shed my coat and shoulder bag I ran back outside and wended my way up the hill. Oh, I wandered up there for hours, it felt like, singing old songs, with the moon glinting at me through the trees, and the stars (and aeroplanes) winking overhead. After a while I simply lay in the grass and stared up at the stars -- the stars always make me feel closer to God than anything else. It's odd, I suppose, because one is supposed to feel small and insignificant when one beholds the splendour of the night sky, but it always makes me feel -- connected. Almost as though I can feel my blood humming in my veins, and the pull of the moon on the tides, and the way everything in the world fits together, and how this world fits together with the heavens, and how I fit into the scheme of everything. When I look at the stars, I feel anchored.
And after skimming the f-list and reading a little and, er, having another slice of cake (it's very good cake!), I went upstairs and cosied up in my blankets and lit all the candles I have holders for, because my lamp is broken, and for a little while after I was too sleepy to read I lay in bed with the covers up to my chin, watching the blurred glimmer of the candles and the flickering of the firelight over the walls and ceiling. (I blew them out before I was sleepy enough to fall asleep, though, don't worry.) And there was that stillness, that beautiful singing stillness that feels -- unstill, alive, I don't know, it's more than silence. I want to say "communing" -- not to be mystical -- but communing with what? God? Myself -- the truest part of myself? I don't know. But it's peace, and it's beautiful.
This morning started slowly; I stayed cosied up beneath the covers and listened to Morning Edition on NPR for a while, and watched a bit of telly, and had some orange juice, until I finally stopped lazing about and got dr![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lady_morielessed and cleaned the hall and most of the bathroom and a lot of downstairs and the last corners of my bedroom (...sort of). And the day's been mostly like that. Cleaning, turning the radio up loud -- the Folk Show on our local NPR station was on until just now and for once they had a competent DJ playing good music rather than third-tier no-name singer-songwriters and amateur local string bands, and I've been making a great big batch of my fantastically luscious cinnamon rolls for tomorrow (WHEN KYRA IS HERE). Cinnamon rolls are an excellent thing to make when no-one else is around, because a) they take a very long time, and b) you cannot help but make a truly incredible mess. I've just cleaned it up and the cinnamon rolls are cooling on the counter and when they are ready to be put away and I stop typing on, I am going to get the Angelmobile and head off. The gang is having one last great bash before Alessandra gets married on Monday and moves away to California. (Hopefully I get home tonight before my parents do; if not, I am leaving a large, brightly coloured note.)
AND KYRA IS COMING TOMORROW. ALKSHDGLKHGH.lady_moriel and I have known each other for nearly seven years and she is my oldest and bestest friend, but we have never actually met -- so she may be an axe murderer. If I never post again, she has probably hacked off my head and carried it off to her lair to display on the wall with the heads of her other victims. But anyway she will be here for a week and I am bubbling with excitement and half-formed plans and, oh yeah, terror. (What if she doesn't like me in person? But she's seen the very worst of my emotastic whingeings; if she still likes me after all of that she won't forsake me because I am clingy and sneeze like a freight train and talk too fast and fall over a lot, right? Right?) It's also sort of fascinating from a psychological perspective, and...strange. All of these years she's been words on my screen and a voice on the telephone and suddenly she's going to be here? In my world? And we've been talking about getting together for years, some plans more serious than others, and I still don't really believe she's coming at all, and won't, until she's in my car tomorrow morning flopping over with jet-lag and suitcases. I'm having gigantic silly metaphysical thoughts that are too convoluted for words. Furthermore I have been overcome with completely random fits of squee ("lalala, cleaning the bathroom...FOR KYRA. KYRA IS COMING TO SEE ME TOMORROW! *flail*") and may have jumped up and down on the bed. Just a little bit.
Well then. I ought to put away those cinnamon rolls and find a jacket and depart.
Last night was glorious -- after Once and a little straightening (and a lot of live streaming WUMB), I put on my apostrophe dress and my red shoes and the Angelmobile and I took off for the theatre to see Sarah and Hannah in the Teen Theatre showcase, which consisted of a lot of short plays that I very much enjoyed. Victoria was there as well, and Alessandra's brothers Brennan and Jesse, so it was a merry time. After the play there was a bit of hobnobbing before we headed our separate ways (well, separate as in "everyone else in the Meholicks' van, me on a bicycle"). Riding at night is lovely; the air was just a little chilly and there was wind in my hair and the sky was dotted over with stars and a brightly glimmering nearly-full moon. It was so unbearably lovely that as soon as I got home and had my bicycle in the garage and shed my coat and shoulder bag I ran back outside and wended my way up the hill. Oh, I wandered up there for hours, it felt like, singing old songs, with the moon glinting at me through the trees, and the stars (and aeroplanes) winking overhead. After a while I simply lay in the grass and stared up at the stars -- the stars always make me feel closer to God than anything else. It's odd, I suppose, because one is supposed to feel small and insignificant when one beholds the splendour of the night sky, but it always makes me feel -- connected. Almost as though I can feel my blood humming in my veins, and the pull of the moon on the tides, and the way everything in the world fits together, and how this world fits together with the heavens, and how I fit into the scheme of everything. When I look at the stars, I feel anchored.
And after skimming the f-list and reading a little and, er, having another slice of cake (it's very good cake!), I went upstairs and cosied up in my blankets and lit all the candles I have holders for, because my lamp is broken, and for a little while after I was too sleepy to read I lay in bed with the covers up to my chin, watching the blurred glimmer of the candles and the flickering of the firelight over the walls and ceiling. (I blew them out before I was sleepy enough to fall asleep, though, don't worry.) And there was that stillness, that beautiful singing stillness that feels -- unstill, alive, I don't know, it's more than silence. I want to say "communing" -- not to be mystical -- but communing with what? God? Myself -- the truest part of myself? I don't know. But it's peace, and it's beautiful.
This morning started slowly; I stayed cosied up beneath the covers and listened to Morning Edition on NPR for a while, and watched a bit of telly, and had some orange juice, until I finally stopped lazing about and got dr
lady_morielessed and cleaned the hall and most of the bathroom and a lot of downstairs and the last corners of my bedroom (...sort of). And the day's been mostly like that. Cleaning, turning the radio up loud -- the Folk Show on our local NPR station was on until just now and for once they had a competent DJ playing good music rather than third-tier no-name singer-songwriters and amateur local string bands, and I've been making a great big batch of my fantastically luscious cinnamon rolls for tomorrow (WHEN KYRA IS HERE). Cinnamon rolls are an excellent thing to make when no-one else is around, because a) they take a very long time, and b) you cannot help but make a truly incredible mess. I've just cleaned it up and the cinnamon rolls are cooling on the counter and when they are ready to be put away and I stop typing on, I am going to get the Angelmobile and head off. The gang is having one last great bash before Alessandra gets married on Monday and moves away to California. (Hopefully I get home tonight before my parents do; if not, I am leaving a large, brightly coloured note.) AND KYRA IS COMING TOMORROW. ALKSHDGLKHGH.
lady_moriel and I have known each other for nearly seven years and she is my oldest and bestest friend, but we have never actually met -- so she may be an axe murderer. If I never post again, she has probably hacked off my head and carried it off to her lair to display on the wall with the heads of her other victims. But anyway she will be here for a week and I am bubbling with excitement and half-formed plans and, oh yeah, terror. (What if she doesn't like me in person? But she's seen the very worst of my emotastic whingeings; if she still likes me after all of that she won't forsake me because I am clingy and sneeze like a freight train and talk too fast and fall over a lot, right? Right?) It's also sort of fascinating from a psychological perspective, and...strange. All of these years she's been words on my screen and a voice on the telephone and suddenly she's going to be here? In my world? And we've been talking about getting together for years, some plans more serious than others, and I still don't really believe she's coming at all, and won't, until she's in my car tomorrow morning flopping over with jet-lag and suitcases. I'm having gigantic silly metaphysical thoughts that are too convoluted for words. Furthermore I have been overcome with completely random fits of squee ("lalala, cleaning the bathroom...FOR KYRA. KYRA IS COMING TO SEE ME TOMORROW! *flail*") and may have jumped up and down on the bed. Just a little bit. Well then. I ought to put away those cinnamon rolls and find a jacket and depart.
