Thursday, January 22, 2004
The itch is driving me batty today. Two itches actually. One is my skin, the other is my mind. I need books. I've gone through my bookshelves and have nothing to read. Days like today I wish I had five thousand dollars to spend on books alone. I could do it too, easily.
Worse is having money for books, but nowhere to buy them. Or a limitted amount, and how to choose which ones you want? Maybe I'll go sort some books and see if I can find something that tempts me.
Kris - 10:02 a.m.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Cripes. I think I'm ready to start seriously considering a full-body tattoo. If I was tattooed with skin-coloured ink, nobody would know. Last night, after finally healing, I scratched a four inch wide strip of skin off my belly again. My inner elbows come so close to healing completely and then one bad night has me covered in blood once more. At least I can not see behind my knees, I have no idea how bad they are, but walking pain is a good clue.
Kris - 9:26 p.m.
Monday, January 19, 2004
I do believe I've been up all night again. In two and a half hours or so, I'll be dragging my kids out of bed and sending them off into the bloody cold to school. Maybe then I'll be able to sleep. Dave's blames my insomnia on my caffiene addiction. I'm starting to suspect he may be right and that my coffeepot has been lying to me all these years. Look at it ... sitting all innocent-like on my desk, right here, beside me... no. Of course the coffeepot does not lie. It has only my best interests at heart after all.
Kris - 5:04 a.m.
Sunday, January 18, 2004
How very appropriate these lyrics are for the last ten years or so of my life. My daughter is ten, my son is five, and I'm staring 28 in the face. Where did it go?
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.
Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.
Time by Pink Floyd
Kris - 10:57 p.m.
My mother was convinced I would be an artist. My father thought for sure I would be an electrician. Then my love for books came through loud and clear and Mother spent the next thirteen years convinced I would be a writer. She's so proud of me. I write for a website and once wrote the foreword for book about dogs. She hasn't lost faith in me though, and is still sure that I will someday become a famous authour. She doesn't much care what type of future book I might write, but she knows it will happen. I don't think so Mother, at least not any time soon. I'm supremely happy in my nearly-anonymous existence.
Kris - 9:52 p.m.
I spend most of my day lost in my daydreams. I don't know why, there's certainly nothing I need to escape in my real life, I'm as happy as I have ever been, more so in fact. I literally have everything I could ever want (within reason), including a great love and a pair of children that I adore to pieces and light up my life. I even have dogs to complete the picture, three of them, and an aquarium full (more or less) of goldfish. What more could I possibly want? Not a blessed thing.
And still ... here I sit, I'm really supposed to be working (I work at home, a writer), Eric is watching Sinbad the Sailor, Jordy is gone to a friend's birthday party, Dave is at work, the dogs are contentedly munching on bones ... and my mind wanders away from this Northern town of mine. Where does it go?
To sometime else a lot of the times, and somewhere else too. Sometimes it's a place from a book I've read, or a factual event in history, or somewhere and when completely different, pulled from the recesses of my mind. I dream of dragons, and snowy peaks (not such a stretch given where I live), or hot deserts and knights in armour, of kings and queens, and fairies and elves.
Dave describes these mindful journeys as my time "off". He says I sit and stare at whatever is in front of my face for a long time, and it seems as though I've gone into a trance, not noticing him or anything else. He tells me it so obvious that I have gone elsewhere in my head that he has learned to just leave me alone until I come back. Things that I can not tell him : that my knights always wear his face even though their names may differ, that it always his arms I run to in my fantasies, that I'm always happy to return to reality. He'd laugh at that. Hell, I'm
laughing at the sappiness of it all.
Kris - 4:00 p.m.