22 july 2000 | back | archive | forward | girl | sign | e-mail

every time the phone rings, i jump. if i'm on the phone or online, i stop every hour or so to check my voicemail. i take my cordless with me to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to bed, and i have dialed the number to my grandparents' house so many times that the 13 digits are etched in stone on my brain.

i am waiting to hear from family; they are waiting for my grandpa to die.

i thought waiting at my place in LA would be easier than waiting there in the philippines, but it's not. i'm a tangled ball of nerves.

and how do i deal with stress? i don't! i pretend everything is just fine.

how are you doing? they ask.
oh i'm fine! i say.
how was your trip?
it was good. i did what i had to do. i made my peace.
peace, if peace means sweeping it under the rug and then tripping over it each time i walk through my door.

but life goes on, they say. your life goes on. he would want you to keep going. he would tell you to enjoy your life.

no, i think, he'd tell me to stop slouching, get your lazy self up and make yourself look pretty, for crying out loud -- not in those exact words, but close.

and now is really not the time to let myself go. i am moving in a week, and i've barely begun packing. i am working on a long overdue project, and i'd really like to finish it by summer's end. i am feeling the urgency i always feel at the end of july, the one that tugs at my pant leg every two minutes to remind me that another year has gone by, again. but, you know, it's so constant -- like the humming of my computer -- that i almost forget it's there.

i'm five chapters into aimee bender's new novel, an invisible sign of my own, which i'd been awaiting since last fall when i followed the nice lady into the bathroom at barnes & noble. so far, so good; i am giggling out loud.

there is the period: "." and the ellipses: "..." but there is no such punctuation as a double period: ".." it does not connote an extra long pause or a brief respite between fragments. learn it. love it.

the other day i realized that there are many brown websites: benbrown.com, keithbrown.com, sam brown'sexploding dog and brownpants.com. to my knowledge, none are related, although all three lads may own a pair of brown pants.

"what do you think we'll talk about when we're married?"
"we'll probably talk about when we used to talk about what we would talk about."

i haven't been to the eye doctor in two years.

my moody mood