Christmas on the horizon

Art modeling is a lot of thinking and noticing. The classical music in the dim room,with the patter and scratch of charcoal on paper. The room is cold except for the cone light above my shoulder. I can see the tiny hairs on my arm as I look down at the nail driven into the wooden platform. The nail has a happy face scratched into it from years of wear. I think about making a graphic novel. I mentally cast the people I know as character models. I think about my medium, pen and ink or wacom tablet? I would need a G5 for sure; my poor old iMac is bogged down with family photos and book illustrations, my version of Photoshop is outdated. My wrist has gone numb. I shift my weight a fraction, leaning into my hip and allowing a hot rush of blood to pour into my hand, prickling my fingertips. My cold white hand turns pink. I think about my Christmas cards. My inlaws love Sears portraits. It would be cost-effective to just button up my pride and bring the family down for a sitting. I could stick those cheesy 5x6 portraits into those holiday cards with the windows cut out and send them en mass to the mainland folks. Or perhaps I could make a drawing to decorate the cards. My sore knee shoots pain up my leg. I snort hot breath onto my shoulder and hold very still. My skin under the light has a sheen of sweat; my skin in shadow has goose bumps.

beepbeepbeepbeepbeep Time's up.

When I arrived home, chilled to the bone, I put on the kettle and mixed up three cups of hot cocoa. I poured in eggnog flavored coffee creamer. Piled them up with mini marshmallows. Mike and I sat on the couch, watching our little boy lick the melting marshmallows off the rim of his cocoa, obviously enjoying it. Some things in life are just perfect.

undaunted, we advance...

... to serve the principle of freedom.

My orals are next week, just to clear up confusion.

I went to bed ridiculously early last night. Patted the computer as I shut it down, crawled into bed with my baby, and woke up every hour for the rest of the night as Mike failed to return from work. The motorcycle finally rolled up at daybreak, just as I was rolling out of bed for my shower. Yes, we are remembering how things were going before he left to New York. Oh well, only another couple of months left, then we may have time to see one another again.

Today I intern, at noon I hop in the car and earn myself some pay at WCC. Then I'm off to the mall to blow that money on Christmas presents (must get them when I can, I'm not going to have money in December). I love the winter months, it makes me happy to shop for presents, bake things, listen to seasonal music, and drink spiced tea. I've never lived in one place long enough to really call it home, but the winter holidays take that place for me. These months are home.

impotent rage

I infuriated the driver behind me by stopping my car in the right hand lane and parking. She honked. I pointed at the big yellow sign and jerked my thumb for her to go around me. She pulled up next to me and read the sign loudly, trailing off and zooming away when she got to the "except weekends and holidays" part after No Parking Anytime. Ha.

The fire alarm was honking in the library as I got in at 7:45am. I watched the security guards run around, then pulled out my book. I had allowed my frozen chicken dinner to thaw and leak all over this novel, and in the following days in a hot car, a thick fur of black mold had grown over half of it. I blew away some fuzz, peeled the pages apart, wiped as much of the black mossiness off as I could, and wiped my hands on my pants. Good thing I never took Preservation.

With planned power outages, A/C troubles, psychotic computers and mysterious printer problems, today is looking up. Toolbox Guy was taking digital pictures of his computer screen, which was filled with pictures of drunk frat boys. He gave me a furtive stare and hid his activities. I didn't ask.

Mat passed his orals, and we convened to congratulate him in the afternoon. Happy Hour at Dave & Busters was slow enough that my buzz wore off between drinks, and I did not get drunk enough to enjoy the video games. Yuri beat the tar out of the virtual boxer while I got my face jabbed in, but I at least managed to shoot more bad guys than her in Police911. She shot all of her colleagues. I'll remember to pick a different partner when I find myself in a library shootout. Gavin went for the driving games, crashing his car into every wall, field, and pedestrian on the screen. Mat and Mel smooched a lot. We left at 7:45pm, and I watched the young college crowd streaming in to begin their Friday night. I curled up in bed with my baby and was asleep by 9pm. Wild thing. Maybe when Mike comes back we can take the motorcycle down to Ward and have a go at D&B's and a movie at the MegaPlex of Doom.

Mike comes home tomorrow.

rude

The radio kept playing dirty songs about cheating lovers. I turned it off.

Mike is being good in New York. Fuck off, radio.


So Yuri has this stinking pile of construction debris near her house that she thinks might have a dead body in it, and I was about to head over with a shovel after our interviews, but my mother came to pick me up. Instead of solving crime, I spent the afternoon tearing apart Gavin and Chris and making a dinner which I was not destined to eat. I left my mother and my aunt to feed the kids and hurried off to class, stopping for a diet soda and some cash for parking.

"Hey, the ladies were discussing you when I went into my interview," Yuri said. "Oh shit," said I. But no, apparently they were talking about finding more information on a vacancy they might want to stick me in. I'd better start researching Valencia. And writing my book on winning over interviewers with stories about salami-eating masturbating hobos.

I love librarianship.

Blue Turk

I couldn't get the shower hot enough to shake the chill I was feeling today. Just stood under the steaming water with goose bumps and stared at the tiles. My nice jeans hang loose and crappy now. I pulled on a Led Zeppelin shirt and decided not to try for the sexy librarian look today. Technically speaking, I'm not supposed to operate a vehicle when sedated, but I popped my medicine and started up the car anyway with a roar of Alice Cooper on the stereo. My mother came out waving the phone, so I killed the engine and went inside to chat with Mike for a couple minutes. He's in the city today with his friends. No time for details, we said we loved each other and I headed out to work.

I sang along, focused vaguely on the pavement spinning toward me.

I'm covered in blood,
Like a rat on the sewer floor.

I thought about throwing out my lunch as I waited for Yuri to let me in to the library, but I ate it anyway and humored the Xerox Hobo with chit-chat about clock repair. Yuri let me in and handed me her keys on a string, which activated my dormant latch-key kid skills. Man, I'm such a bad-ass, I thought as I whirled the keys like a ninja. My shoe caught on my baggy pant leg and I fell down the stairs.

As I flipped on the lights, illuminating the long dark musty shelves of journals, I pulled off a few volumes of Nuclear Devices and Theory, 1959 and discovered that we have all the information needed to end the world right at our fingertips. In some form of strange coded language called math. The world is safe from me, at least.

unsettled

The peace of our neighborhood was rattled by the homecoming of our military neighbors. You Fucker (the only name for him that gets screamed out their window) and the Bland Guy were out washing their cars after a welcome-home squabble with the live-in girlfriend/roommate, the Shrieker. Pretending to check the mail, I went out to eavesdrop. I ignored them and they ignored me as we all side-eyed each other. You Fucker went inside and got his digicam, then surveyed the mountains and the parking lot with it while narrating to his unseen audience, "And there he is washing the car..." I herded Gavin off the road and looked over to see You Fucker pointing his camera at me. He looked at his camera, I looked in the lens - a standoff on opposite sides of a viewfinder - then he turned casually and went back inside without indicating that he had noticed me. Hmm.

I wonder where Mike is from minute to minute. Driving? Sleeping? Eating? I tossed all night despite a dose of Tylenol PM, my dreams were unsettling. I finally got out of bed at 6am and stood in front of the bathroom mirror in my underwear. My eyes are usually a bit puffy in the mornings, giving me a more innocent look. This morning they were just fat from crying in my sleep. I sang quietly to myself as I scrubbed my face, my voice a growl because of the illness grating my throat. I quietly got dressed, went downstairs, and ate cheerios in front of the computer as I plugged in my diet for the day. Saturdays are long and hungry. Today I am weak and trembly from my chest cold, so my mother dropped me off at work although she didn't need to. I feel disorganized and uneasy, but basically okay. The week to come is a rough one. I have also been booked for another figure modeling gig, the Friday after next. Much of my nervousness over the last session was due to the fact that I was emerging from the woodwork; now the calls won't stop until I move again. Artists are desperate for reliable warm bodies; at least I'll have cash for Christmas presents this year.

I'd like a nap. 8 more days until Mike comes home.

the sickness

A couple nights ago I came home late to find Gavin watching tv while my mother chatted with a neighbor. He was zoned out in front of America's Next Top Model, which, although mentally appropriate for 2 year olds, would not be my first pick for him. "And America's Next Top Model is..." I flipped the channel. Gavin sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with alarm, "No mom! I watch! Give me back remote!" and he punched it back to VH1 and slumped back onto the pillows as the quivering girl sobbed off her mascara. Huh.

My sniffle crawled into my lungs. My mother, unwilling to surrender the couch to her sick daughter, pulled out the couch bed and piled it up with pillows and blankets. This was the first time since my wedding that we had touched the thing, and the musty old sheets sent particles of dust up my nose as I sunk into the springs to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas with the family. The dust did nothing good for my chest cold, so I knocked back a couple Tylenol PMs and crashed like a log in my own bed for the rest of the night. I need sleep.

Mike be gone

If you set a butterfly free and it doesn't return to you, it was never yours to begin with, but if you smash it and it reanimates as a zombie and comes after you for eternity - that's love.

(My god that will be really unfunny if Mike's plane doesn't make it.)

So I've somehow found myself with 2 interviews within a week, both for places I am uncertain about living in. But you know, when you're 26 years old, sharing a bedroom with your husband and child in your mom's house, something has to give. Eventually I have to actually pull in the bacon. It's the circle of life.

Mike and I have said goodbye at airports more than a dozen times in the past 8 years. In college, we were apart for 3 months at a time, during summers. 2 weeks for his brother's wedding will be a snap. We mashed Gavin between us in a bear hug before waving goodbye. Between the mini bottles of liquor and complete works of Douglas Adams stuffed in his backpack, his 10 hour flight should be easy. Have fun at Lake George. Don't knock over any tour boats.

Since Mike took the camera, I will be reduced to posting pictures from the internet until further notice.

work

Reference question of the day: "This library?" Yes, yes it is. And no, we don't have any books.

Good librarians smile at their patrons. Bad patrons take this as their cue to leer with their staring eyeballs peeled back and their teeth bared every time they walk by the reference desk. Not sexy, man. Eyes front. It was just a newspaper I handed you.