I was having a temper tantrum, though not a very big one as tantrums go. Something about my chin in a picture I think. "Jenni, remember when you were in India? What was it you said about loving your..."
"Knock if off. Only I am allowed to philosophize about my trip to India!"
But of course, he was absolutely right. And look, I don't want to get into some sappy post about my engagement but let me just say that I would greatly appreciate if he would NOT DO THAT. Okay? In the first place he is way to patient with me, which totally makes me look bad, but there is no reason to compound the insult by being right. Mmmkay?
Anyway, I did learn some junk in India and I do tend to forget it. This basically means I need to go back to India, right? Right? Whose with me?
It costs 3x more to buy a stamp than it does to buy a 4'x6' photo print. Also the mail man at my office is totally crazy. Sometimes it's cute, and sometimes it's scary. About a week ago a coworker came running out of her office thinking he was attacking me. Nope, just banging my desk for emphasis. He really hates misdirected mail.
I think I broke my toe. And when you hear that you think: Oh sure, a broken toe, big deal. But it IS a big deal, yo. Because it hurts to walk on this thing, and closed toed shoes are currently out of the question. And wearing flip-flops in the office is generally frowned upon. So pity me already, people! And yes, the fact that a certain republican spent significant time holding a bag of frozen raspberries against my foot (while repeatedly asking if I was okay and do I want some water and can he give me a back rub) should probably cover me in the pity department for several foot injuries to come. Yes, I know this. But my foot hurts!
Lessons we have learned in this post so far: Cathlin is a twit. Her fiancee is greatly to be pitied.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
How It Happened
I spent the evening running. Well, jogging/walking/running. It's all just an excuse to be alone with my thoughts anyway. Easier to let my mind wander when my legs are doing the same thing. Anyway, it was also humid out, and I took the last hill home at a full run. And I walked in the door a fluffy, sweaty, flushing mess of satisfaction. Which is how all exercising should end, fluffy and sweaty and at peace with God and man. Sorry, I've just waxed poetic about humidity and sweat.
And then the rocks hit the door, and I knew. I knew in the way you always know these things, which is to say that I had no idea, knew all along, was completely surprised, and remained unfazed in anyway. Two rocks hit the door and my life flashed before my eyes, or maybe it was my reflection in the mirror. She looked confused at first, and then she shrugged her soccer-jersey clad shoulders and ran a hand over the wisps of hair escaping her pony-tail. If she could deal with it, I could. We were a team, this sweaty apparition and I. Together we opened the door.
He wasn't there of course, no one was. Just the small stones scattered on the balcony, the fireflies dancing in giddy anticipation, and a disembodied voice reading Cyrano's lines. Do you know Cyrano? Of course, we all do. We have all been Cyrano at one point, haven't we? Calling out our lines from under the balcony, where no one can see our huge noses. Only this Cyrano does not have such a large nose. In fact, he has a perfectly charming nose. I love his nose. But he stayed under the balcony anyway, reading out lines from the play I love. And because I did not have any lines of my own to read, I passed the time peaking through the slats of the balcony floor, pelting him with the pebbles he had used against my door. And then he stepped out into the glow from my door and held up a box. More stones. But this one is yellow and sparkly and magical. A sapphire, which defies reason with its color. And I take it. With all my heart.
And then the rocks hit the door, and I knew. I knew in the way you always know these things, which is to say that I had no idea, knew all along, was completely surprised, and remained unfazed in anyway. Two rocks hit the door and my life flashed before my eyes, or maybe it was my reflection in the mirror. She looked confused at first, and then she shrugged her soccer-jersey clad shoulders and ran a hand over the wisps of hair escaping her pony-tail. If she could deal with it, I could. We were a team, this sweaty apparition and I. Together we opened the door.
He wasn't there of course, no one was. Just the small stones scattered on the balcony, the fireflies dancing in giddy anticipation, and a disembodied voice reading Cyrano's lines. Do you know Cyrano? Of course, we all do. We have all been Cyrano at one point, haven't we? Calling out our lines from under the balcony, where no one can see our huge noses. Only this Cyrano does not have such a large nose. In fact, he has a perfectly charming nose. I love his nose. But he stayed under the balcony anyway, reading out lines from the play I love. And because I did not have any lines of my own to read, I passed the time peaking through the slats of the balcony floor, pelting him with the pebbles he had used against my door. And then he stepped out into the glow from my door and held up a box. More stones. But this one is yellow and sparkly and magical. A sapphire, which defies reason with its color. And I take it. With all my heart.
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