It was a crappy night’s sleep last night. Sometimes I feel a bit like I’m a boa constrictor and digesting any meal takes months instead of hours. And in the traditional Jerry Maguire scenario, bad indigestion that keeps you up at night makes you think of things.
Like how I have not written on this thing for ages. Or specifically, about a week.
So this shall be another one of those mind-dumping entries, to purge the system. And Baby Meow says hello to the readership with a swift little kick to the momma’s lower abdomen.
Mind Dump Number One: I’ve been less time There than I’ve been Here
also known as, Getting an REM Song Stuck In Your Head At 4 am.
Fifteen years ago, my life changed completely: I moved from that northeastern corner of South America (there) to California (here). And still, most people think you can’t get there from here.
One of my favorite, most obscure passages of the song:
When your hands are feeling empty
Stick head jumpin off the ground, ’round
Tris is sure to shirr the deers out
Brother Ray can sing my song
I’ve been there I know the way — Can’t get there from here
I’ve been there. I know the way. I must dig up my “fables of the reconstruction” album.
Mind Dump Number Two: Boulder Creek is, actually, one of those places where you can’t quite “get there from here”
Also Known As, A Day On Bald Mountain
It’s true. When “true” mountainfolk (allow me a little inside joke there) tell you it will take, “oh, about 30-40 minutes” to get down to Boulder Creek and you huffily dismiss them as being full of partially-digested intestinal matter, you will eat your words as you try to navigate the curves of a lovely mountain road you vaguely remember from a couple of years ago when your then-boyfriend drove it DOWNHILL at about 45 miles per hour, seeing if you’d attempt to kill him out of sheer hysteria before he –invariably, you thought– successfully killed you both. One can only suppose the gentleman should have driven faster, as he’s successfully created an offspring who might inherit his leadfoot and psychotic driving penchant.
***if you should click on the Boulder Creek city data and look at the map and think it looks like nothing special, please bear in mind that the little town lies in the middle of a valley, nestled between the hills. Fsh… okay. I think you would really have to see it. But I’ve been there…. and I swear I totally know the way– kind of.***
Mind Dump Number Three: Maybe There Is Some Truth To That Cheez Saying After All
(Although maybe it doesn’t apply to penises)
Okay…. so usually when people refer to “It’s not size of the waves but the motion in the ocean,” they are talking about their (small) penises.
I am not talking about a penis.
I am talking about a baby.
Because, MY GOD! It may be a tiny little thing in there (with or without a penis, I know not), but it moves as if there were nothing but a constant party going on in there. Now it really, truly, moves all the time –except of course when people are trying to feel it move.
The other day I was lightly supporting the book I was reading on my protruding belly, and the Meowster KICKED IT!
It just kept on trying to get rid of the pointy intruder. Or perhaps it was just fascinated with a different texture to kick. Either way, my book kept on jumping until I shifted positions and sent the little striker in a different direction. Ha!
I guess one should not take evil glee in “getting even” with a little something that only weighs slightly more than a pound, but I take them as they come. So…. HA!
I’ve been there now….. and I guess I know the way.
Mind Dumping Number Four: Impending Solar Return
…but this time, Saturn decided to come back for the birthday party too
Here comes the countdown. (Happy Birthday, Mr. Me?)
Normally, my good friend P’s birthday is the first inkling that it approaches. I can always make fun of him for being a year older while still reveling in my perceived youth. Which reminds me to give thanks to P for being gracious all these years at being a year older before I am. I guess that’s the true test of maturity.
But then… the summer passes.
The second sign, if you will, is simply the entry into August. August is this very mellow and suspicious month– no federal holidays, no escape from the heat in most places….. Leos all around blow out their birthday candles in their gregariously cocky Leonine ways. This one, I suppose, is easy to ignore.
The third sign is my friend T’s birthday– aka 0º Virgo.
The cling in the air is hard to ignore. Suddenly, it’s as if the atmosphere were filled with anions after the rain, and things feel smoother. The sun has entered Virgo and I can feel it. Birthday party, cheesecake, jellybean, BOOM.
But since it’s still August….. I can kind of ignore it.
But the fourth sign is in the mail: August 28th is looming.
To the un-date-obsessed, August 28th is just another date. Perhaps it’s even your birthday, and if so, happy birthday!
To me, it’s a week before the Final Countdown.
That last week of holding on a previous numerical idyll to which I’ve become well used and which has become a minor personality identifier.
For the super-dense: IT’S A WEEK BEFORE MY –IN THIS CASE– 29TH BIRTHDAY, DAMMIT!!!!!
Return of dear ol’ Saturn.
One less than thrity.
But as with all other birthdays,
I’ve been there. I know the way.