and then what happens after they give birth?
writing from my lunch break in the midst of an off-kilter day.
kilter...
quilted...
kilts...
delirium!
up almost all night, tucked myself in shortly before 3. did that weird thing where you wake up for about 10 minutes every hour, on the hour. Clocks are the weirdest thing to fumble for in the dark when you can't sleep... no matter what time the face reads, it's like a personal betrayal every time. Damn you, 5:13! What the f*ck, 6:13? people are ridiculous. get over it, jane's brain! it's just time.
Rolled out of bed at 8:20... huge sweatshirt, ancient ugly corduroys, messy bun, concealer under the eyes, make-me-gargantuanly-tall-clogs.
Thank god for proofreading to eat a few hours of the day. It compliments the messy bun days so well.
Vicki took an early lunch, so she's on the other side of the partition talking to an educator on the phone... the things she talks about on the phone all day are totally typical in context, I'm sure, but I love how absurd it is to listen to just one side of a conversation day after day.
"Oh. MMmmmm. Oh?"
*beat*
"And then what happens after they give birth?"
*beat* *sniiiiiiff* (slurps some coffee) *sniiiiif*
"mmm. uh huh. I see."
And then what happens after they give birth?
An unintentionally profound question about humanity.
I once asked my mom why she and my dad chose to put me in a room down a long hallway by myself when I was a baby. "We didn't really do the running down the hall to respond to your cries" "Really? Isn't that kinda lonely for a baby to be so far away? Wasn't that a long walk for you at 2am?" "No. We thought it was important for you to self-soothe."
My mom has devastating one-liners... she always has. Often I try to argue with her or pull more discussion out of them, but she'll lock into the statement and won't budge. I love that she's a sweet lady with a tough side... and it was an interesting insight into her parenting philosophy. "Self-soothe, kid." A notable trait for anyone to learn... 27 years later, I'm still working on my method.
For whatever reason, real or imagined, factual or anxiously anticipatory-- it's been a raw week. Raw like the heel of a deep purple onion that's just been cut open, with the jagged edge of the onion skin still hanging onto one side for an aesthetic treat. (Onion metaphors work for everything. I can't even fight it. It's a damn good source of prose.)
Lately, my brain is working hard to imagine a few "push this button in case of emergency" situations, maybe just as a character strengthening test? I'm not sure. (My mind, like my mother, doesn't spare a lot of detail.) I'm ok with it. I'll try to abuse it as an exercise in self-soothing.
When the alarm went off, I realized that my jaw was clenched (practically welded) shut. "RELAX," my first thought was. Which is always nice to hear, even if just from within yourself. As I searched for my huge Hamilton sweatshirt, I started humming a track to myself by the Audreys that Tom put in his top 5... long ride... it unwinds me, without fail. It's a song I've loved for a while, too. I've been playing it in my mind over cups of cold coffee and the huge sweatshirt as I bleed all over the facilitator's guide proof in ink.
whoops... journaling over. lunch over. Across the hall, the shipping manager is hammering the shit out of a huge shelf. Vicki is shouting and screeching laughter to the educator on the phone. Down the hall, edit suites are blasting the sound of baby cries that indicate hunger.
Back to bleeding ink.
long ride
that you are taking me on
on a long strange ride
there must be
(there must be)
(there must be)
there must be something else
we haven't found
on this long strange ride
long night
and even longer day
I've been travelling blind
it's time you rest your weary eyes
love,
it's been a long strange ride
kilter...
quilted...
kilts...
delirium!
up almost all night, tucked myself in shortly before 3. did that weird thing where you wake up for about 10 minutes every hour, on the hour. Clocks are the weirdest thing to fumble for in the dark when you can't sleep... no matter what time the face reads, it's like a personal betrayal every time. Damn you, 5:13! What the f*ck, 6:13? people are ridiculous. get over it, jane's brain! it's just time.
Rolled out of bed at 8:20... huge sweatshirt, ancient ugly corduroys, messy bun, concealer under the eyes, make-me-gargantuanly-tall-clogs.
Thank god for proofreading to eat a few hours of the day. It compliments the messy bun days so well.
Vicki took an early lunch, so she's on the other side of the partition talking to an educator on the phone... the things she talks about on the phone all day are totally typical in context, I'm sure, but I love how absurd it is to listen to just one side of a conversation day after day.
"Oh. MMmmmm. Oh?"
*beat*
"And then what happens after they give birth?"
*beat* *sniiiiiiff* (slurps some coffee) *sniiiiif*
"mmm. uh huh. I see."
And then what happens after they give birth?
An unintentionally profound question about humanity.
I once asked my mom why she and my dad chose to put me in a room down a long hallway by myself when I was a baby. "We didn't really do the running down the hall to respond to your cries" "Really? Isn't that kinda lonely for a baby to be so far away? Wasn't that a long walk for you at 2am?" "No. We thought it was important for you to self-soothe."
My mom has devastating one-liners... she always has. Often I try to argue with her or pull more discussion out of them, but she'll lock into the statement and won't budge. I love that she's a sweet lady with a tough side... and it was an interesting insight into her parenting philosophy. "Self-soothe, kid." A notable trait for anyone to learn... 27 years later, I'm still working on my method.
For whatever reason, real or imagined, factual or anxiously anticipatory-- it's been a raw week. Raw like the heel of a deep purple onion that's just been cut open, with the jagged edge of the onion skin still hanging onto one side for an aesthetic treat. (Onion metaphors work for everything. I can't even fight it. It's a damn good source of prose.)
Lately, my brain is working hard to imagine a few "push this button in case of emergency" situations, maybe just as a character strengthening test? I'm not sure. (My mind, like my mother, doesn't spare a lot of detail.) I'm ok with it. I'll try to abuse it as an exercise in self-soothing.
When the alarm went off, I realized that my jaw was clenched (practically welded) shut. "RELAX," my first thought was. Which is always nice to hear, even if just from within yourself. As I searched for my huge Hamilton sweatshirt, I started humming a track to myself by the Audreys that Tom put in his top 5... long ride... it unwinds me, without fail. It's a song I've loved for a while, too. I've been playing it in my mind over cups of cold coffee and the huge sweatshirt as I bleed all over the facilitator's guide proof in ink.
whoops... journaling over. lunch over. Across the hall, the shipping manager is hammering the shit out of a huge shelf. Vicki is shouting and screeching laughter to the educator on the phone. Down the hall, edit suites are blasting the sound of baby cries that indicate hunger.
Back to bleeding ink.
long ride
that you are taking me on
on a long strange ride
there must be
(there must be)
(there must be)
there must be something else
we haven't found
on this long strange ride
long night
and even longer day
I've been travelling blind
it's time you rest your weary eyes
love,
it's been a long strange ride
posted by JustJane at
1:15 PM
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