I Am a Red Dress

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Good afternoon, all. :-)

I want someone to goddamn buy my house! :-P


In other news: I started my current (two-week) contract today.

Despite the fact that there was a mid-afternoon cake-break (mmm...) I am still glad that this is only a two-week contract.

The office I'm sharing has one functioning over-head flouerscent light, and a window that may as well not even be there, despite its size.
Also, the place is over-airconditioned. And apparently this was a *good* day, temperature-wise. :-P

Also, my office-mate/boss - while, presumeably, a Very Nice Person - is, uh... boring. Wall-paper. Happy to gossip about Brad and Angelina, and chosing to listen to top-40 radio every day for eight hours, voluntarily.
I'm being really shallow here, I know.
None the less, I find her rather dull.
I'm reminded of what Marisol termed "The Barbies" from where she used to work.
Except that this one is (A) not quite that bad, and (B) already has a five-year-old, so she's not going Baby Crazy at present. :-)

Hopefully she will reveal interesting facets of her personality in the next few days. :-)


I have been feeling kind of down today - maybe not that surprising (lousy light-levels, people I don't know, and too-low temperatures make me cranky, anyway) - and it doesn't help that Paramour has been playing all day long.

Don't get me wrong. I quite like the sub-genre of pop-fluff that includes Fall Out Boy, Paramour, MCR and, possibly, Avril Lavigne. And I certainly don't mind listening to some teenager singing about exploring her bisexuality because, fuck the lot of you, she can.

But - I found out about this particular band because Paul knew about them, and burnt me their CD, saying "They're basically, like... 'Fall Out Girl', if that makes any sense. I think you might like them." And he was right.
And they have this other song, the chorus of which goes "That's what you get / when you let / your heart win!" which is this jubilant thing suggesting that one should take risks because they're generally worth it.
And that was on the radio on the morning of June third.
I had it in my head all day - feeling hopeful that, when Paul came home that night, we'd be able to start down the road to figuring things out.

And, instead, he left me.


So, yes. That particular band wasn't helping me much today.


On a similar theme:
Familiar, much?


I swear, this cartoon basically sums up the past year for me and him. Occasionally we'd switch roles, but that was the general gist. Saying "I love you" because what else can you say into that sucking silence that won't start a fight or make things worse?

Eugh.


I'm mopey today, can you tell?


I'm going grocery shopping tonight with those gift cards. I'm going to get a value-pack of chicken thighs (or similar) and chop them all up, and bake them, and then freeze the cooked chicken and use it for stir-fries and pastas and stuff in future.

I also need to get milk.
And, clearly, the ubiquitous tinned soup - assuming PC makes condensed (sp) tinned soup, and not just the heat-and-serve variety.
Possibly some tinned fruit and/or frozen veggies as well. We shall see.
And a loaf of bread.


I need to wash/vacuum/something that basement bathroom cupboard (I didn't do it on the weekend) tonight, and make stuff for dinner + lunch-tomorrow. Beyond that, I'm not sure what I'll do. Call the real-estate agent and see if there's been any Feed Back on the house. (Maybe I got lucky and there'll be an actual offer on my message machine when I get home... I can always dream, right?)


Paul has mailed me the separation agreement, which I need to sign and send (one copy) back to him. He's sending his former house-keys with it.

<*sigh*>


That's it. :-P


(Gods, I am just so sick and tired of feeling sad and exhausted. Y'know? It's just... it's just slogging-slogging-slogging, day after day. which is just bizzarre, because *yesterday* I was not only fine, but *happy*. I was *excited* about seeing a bunch of my lovely, slashy gal-pals and yacking away about hot non-canonical sex over toast and coffee. I felt flirty and pretty and happy and glad that my life has taken this particular turn. And *now* I'm just mopey and blah, and it's just very frustrating riding this emotional goddamn yo-yo! :-P)


Eugh. :-P


Incidentally, if someone can lj-message me with Tsivia's phone number, I can't seem to find where I've put it. Help?


Reading Anna Camilierri's book I am a Red Dress which is poetry and autobiography about incest-survival, personal strength, and three generations of women in her family.

It's good.

That said, you could so tell that someone was molesting that kid pretty much from word one. It's that kind of language.

Then again, she also edited my favourite Femme anthology. When you find yourself identifying as hyper-feminine, part of a marginalized sub-group of an already marginalized population (both by class and sexuality), chances are good that Normal has kicked you in the teeth harder than usual.


Anyway.


I'm running out of minutes here, so it's time for me to go.


- TTFN,
- Amazon.