Brody is my fave

Either Brody loves the taste or smell of the floss I use, or my fingers ooze some sort of hormonal delight when my period is about to start and he can't get enough of it, licking and nibbling on my index fingers.

Eight hours is just too long for Brody not to be the center of my attention. Really, it's more like six. At that point, he'll start meowing in my face and pawing at me if I don't respond. He won't stop until I cuddle with him, which when I'm still sleep-logged, is not quite enough-- so when I finally actually wake up, he'll meow and meow and meow and lead me to the carpet where he circles and plops and looks up at me with his bedroom eyes. Or maybe living room eyes. If I don't sit on the carpet and devote a few minutes to petting and scratching him, he'll repeat the whole process. And in those few moments, our life is perfect. Nothing but me and him, cuddling and purring and loving.

And I don't even mind when he wakes me up with the need to be touched, because I understand it. Both of our love languages are touch. Sometimes, he'll even stretch out a little paw and lay it gently on some part of me, just to touch me or make sure that I'm there. And he'll spoon with me, putting his little head on my shoulder or in the crook of my elbow.

And I'll kiss his soft fur and smell his cat smell and I'll fall asleep.

Resolutions

1) Don't sleep in as often
2) Read more
3) Play my cello more
4) Try new recipes
5) Start knitting again
6) Learn how to play guitar
7) Continue to eliminate foods which are highly processed and full of preservatives from my diet. This might include soda, which will be very hard.
8) Eat fewer sweets (That kinda goes with #7)
9) Start exercising regularly (Doesn't that have to be included on everyone's resolution list???)

chart

It is the end of the year and everyone is talking about everything good and everything bad. So I will too.

It was a year of change and learning.

I learned how far I could get pushed until I snapped, when I just had to bite back at a customer or cry for a minute in the back. This was a good thing, I think.

I got married, and while this is a huge life-change, I don't feel much different. They say the fist year of marriage is the hardest, but the first six months seem fine. Although, we did seem to squabble about silly things more earlier in our marriage. This was a good thing.

We moved to a brand new city. This was mostly a good thing. I like it here. I feel like if I were the type of person to go out and experience life, this city would offer a lot. But, I miss being closer to family and actually having friends. But I love being in the same city as Mandy.

I feel like I got promoted at work. They like me here. They know I'm a hard worker and they appreciate me. This is very nice. Not that they didn't appreciate me at Shiloh, but I feel like I have more responsibility here.

I started baking bread and cooking more from scratch. Very good thing. I love baking bread. I love feeling the dough transform from a sticky glob to a smooth, elastic ball. I love knowing exactly what is going into my body. I love chopping vegetables. I love filling my kitchen, apartment, and building with the smell of delicious, healthy, homecooked food.

I started a garlic garden. I don't expect to get bulbs from it, but it was fun, and it's something that I want to do- especially when I have a yard. Good thing.

I got a cat. Good thing. I have never had an indoor cat for very long, and I forgot how nice it is. He is cuddly and sweet, the perfect cat for Ben and me.

I learned what it's like to be passed over. I suppose a lot of people have felt that way in the past few years. I hate not being able to get a job, especially when I know that I would be good at whatever I'm applying for. Not a good thing, but maybe it is in someway (like it's good that I don't have a real job, because I hate working...).

What else happened this year? I can't remember January through May. I worked at Bread Co. and the Y. I lived with two boys.

I loved teaching swim lessons.

I didn't love living with boys who I couldn't be naked or gassy around, but it wasn't horrible.

This is boring me.

Solstice

A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY'S DAY,
BEING THE SHORTEST DAY.
by John Donne

'TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
    The sun is spent, and now his flasks
    Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ;
            The world's whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
    For I am every dead thing,
    In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
            For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
    I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
    Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood
            Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else ; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
    Were I a man, that I were one
    I needs must know ; I should prefer,
            If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love ; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

But I am none ; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
    At this time to the Goat is run
    To fetch new lust, and give it you,
            Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night's festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's and the day's deep midnight is.



One of my favorite poems, written for St. Lucy's Day, which was believed to be the shortest day and longest night. It's celebrated on Dec. 13, obviously not the winter solstice, but that was before the calendar change and before modern technology could actually determine without fault the shortest day.

And here is my modernization of it, which I did for a poetry journal exercise my senior year of college.

December twenty-first. Midnight.

The sun sighed for seven hours—

no, the sun never existed; his rays

do not reach the dirt; they fizzle and

fade long before they are felt.

All the light in the universe is soaked in a sponge

held captive from the planets.

The thirsty earth drank our life-force to sate itself;

life shrinks to the foot of the bed, pulled by invisible forces;

it is dead, buried, forgotten; but this dead life laughs

compared to me. I am the epitaph on its forgotten tomb.

Learn from me if you plan on loving,

for I am everything that’s dead.

Love, like a cruel god, formed me from

common clay into His image.

A celestial subject from gray crud—

perfection from worn-down rocks sludging on the ground

eroded by time and weather.

He ruined me. Wetted my substance,

reformed my body leaving the surface raw,

lumped carelessly together,

leaving holes and filling them with

lack, blackness, loss—things that do not exist.

Everything else sucks in everything good,

as plants soak in the sunlight—without it, life falters;

I am, by love’s pottery wheel, the tomb

of things which are not. So many times

we threatened the world with our tsunami of sobs;

so many times we became swirling shadows when we

shared passion with other things; so many times we

became corpses, as our absences stole our souls.

But her dea—her dyi—her passing (she does not deserve it)

has destroyed all things of my being.

I was a man, was I not? Now, if I am a beast

I have some reason to remain, some purpose to prevail;

even plants—even slabs of lifeless cement can feel the

icy tentacles of hate grip their hearts, can swim in the

ocean of love. If I were a usual shadow,

a body must block the light.

But I am not; and my heart will beat for no one.

Go and love; the sun gives you light.

Enjoy the summer; snow will soon surround you.

But I will go to her and call this night hers,

since this is the year’s dim midnight.

:)

Had time to write creatively today.

It is awesome.

Baking

Henrietta

I haven't played my cello in a long time.

I want to.

But I will probably get a noise complaint.

What's the point of paying to live in a place if you can't live?

mustard

Going home over Thanksgiving, we experienced my niece Abby's first "blowout," albeit small. This may not seem like a big deal, but her parents both have a stain complex. Her yellow poop earned the name "mustard stain" and her onsie was thrown directly into the washer.

I wonder if they will survive...