10 december 1999 | back | archive | forward

(today i started to write about christmas.)

our christmas tree is clothed with paper snowflakes and plastic beads i strung when i was 8. michelle and i wrapped three strands of white lights around its body and topped it with an angel doll that was hanging on my bedroom wall. the tree is simple but perfect, and it's ours, all ours. and it makes our apartment smell like a pine forest. most of last night, we sipped egg nog and hummed christmas carols and got giddy about the holidays.

(but then i got sidetracked with a fight i'd had.)

my phone rang. it was my mom.

we're decorating our tree, i told her. when can we go shopping, she asked. i'm so excited for christmas, i thought. not even five minutes of christmasy conversation -- merry this, merry that -- and we got into an argument. she hung up on me. i knew she was mad.

i brewed and stewed and stressed (whatta mess) for a half hour, then called her again. we smoothed things over. i told her i loved her. i hung up, satisfied.

(but what does any of this matter in the great scheme of things?)

a message awaited on voicemail. it was carrie. she was crying. her grandpa died.

i called her immediately and fumbled through the i'm sorrys and whatever you needs and i know he's in heavens. the service is tomorrow. of course i'm going. i won't know what to say or do, but i will be there.

all links spawn a new window. can you deal?

mmm, fragments.

i'm working on something kinda neat just for you. (well. for me, too.) it will hopefully be done next week. yay.

please, God. spare me from the holiday drama. please.

so you wanna know what california's like?

him: "i'm going to have a heart attack."
me: "yeah, me too."

the light is at the end of the tunnel. which tunnel?

say hi:
you know you want to.