Tea and Sympathy
Stephanie just sent me a really good e-mail. Good, I mean, because it was well-written as well as making me feel really good. So this is kind of in response to it but not really because I will probably write her an equally scattered letter later. And she says her letters aren't good...well, they are.
I wanted the wax seal from Bombay, but then I figured, you probably have to put envelopes that are wax-sealed with a red fleur-de-lis inside regular boring envelopes sealed with saliva and flavorless gum flavored adhesive. Kind of takes the fascinating quality away.
I used to take little pieces of paper and fold them up, Jane Austen-style, and pretend that they were missives from some fellow with a burgundy top-hat and a distant look from over the moor. Hair curlier than all get out. And that leads to the hand to the empire waist and a stilted sigh and wanting to write back directly. Oversized top-hats have always gotten me in a tizzy, top-hats of any kind if you've been a regular reader of this diary, you'd agree, they do no one any good at all. But...that's the romantic nature of a Venusian, the fucked-up and tragic nature of Libran-Aquarians.
Today I'm trying really hard to get stuff done that needs to be done, nothing financial, because I might spend the whole day retching about that...just getting myself in order. That is, of course, my lifetime occupation. I hope, on my deathbed, I feel ordered and organized and have all my tickets for the afterlife in hand. I'd hate to be frazzled going through the white light. I wouldn't mind any of my personal bullshit if I knew that there was at least one moment in my future that I could be in Grace in. Where I'm not fumbling with high heels or nails scattered on the floor. Rise above all that...just once. Not be the one in the room out of practice. I could Float without fear. I could be at peace with being a klutzy recluse.
My new favourite pastime is to make wishlists online. It's like free shopping only you don't get the stuff. But then again, you don't have to realize that you wasted your money on a fifteen dollar green ceramic vase when you don't have enough money to have a hamburger.
Oh, oh, oh! Margaret Cho. We love her! I wish I had taken the time out to go see her when she came to UNC of all places. Just watched her specials but not I'm the One that I Want which is great. She's wonderful.
I'm thinking that I have nothing to write about, but, of course, I can always write about my sister and delve into some kind of resevoir of material. I can spin for an hour on that girl and her nordic skin lying out on our cement block patio in the sun, trying to char her whiteness away. Like we don't know about skin cancer. Like we don't know about all of these things. I hate it when people think these things don't apply to them. I think tan is beautiful when it's natural. But I love palid skin...not in a vampiric way, though that's fine too...but just naturally moony and she has that and she tries to not only erode it but seriously damage herself in the process.
I hate the fact that I think of myself as such a know-it-all when it comes to her, so much so I want to print out pictures of melanomas and put them up all over her room. But it always, always turns out to be an argument about my need to inform her than her complete ignorance about any topic that isn't her boyfriend, or her car, or how she's doing anything. I mean, it...
Oh, fuck. This.
