Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Snippet
Jane was taken aback by the force of her memories. They invaded her senses as she stepped further into her bedroom. Only eight months had passed since she had last seen her fiercely pink walls, and even longer since she had last wanted to. She reached out and felt her green and white comforter, then peeled it back to reveal her soft, plain sheets. She felt a stabbing pain in her chest as she rememebered the last time that she was in those sheets.
It occured to her shortly thereafter that stabbing, memory-related pains probably weren't all that good for the baby. Ignoring that logic in favor of indulging her self-destructive tendencies, she slid the comforter back even further and gingerly climbed in. Gingerly was the way that she did most things those days, always with one arm cradling her 7-month pregnant, swollen belly.
It was the first time that she had been in her bedroom in months, a bedroom that lay comfortably within a house in which she was no longer welcome. Not that she couldn't have easily forced her way back in if she so desired; sneaking out of the house as many times as Jane Quinn had in her past left her equally equipped with the knowledge of how to sneak back in. The idea that she could be kept out of her childhood house by means of a locked door and a sullen father was laughable. All it would take is a rusty bobby pin and an iron will.
And yet, it was the first time she had been in that room in months because it was the first time that being on the same street as her house wasn't emotionally, hormonally, or mentally unbearable. Not that being in her house felt any better at this point, but at least she wasn't holding back vomit or tears at the thought of her bright pink walls or her mother's Cream of Wheat.
Camille went over there often and left letters in their mailbox, as was part of the arrangement. Possibly "arrangement" is too strong a word, better replaced by "Camille's decision to forge a civil and informative relationship with Anne and Joseph Quinn".
Camille Logan handled business the right way, and believed wholeheartedly that deep down inside, Jane's parents wanted to hear the updates and details, about the things that they claimed they would "rather not know". Camille had a voiced a suspicion to her daughter Amy, that then of course found its way to Jane, that if it wasn't for Camille's delivery of biweekly update letters, Mrs. Quinn would be circling her neighborhood in her gray sedan even more often than she already did (which was surprisingly often for someone who claimed to be "uninterested in the details of her daughter's personal life from this point forward". As if her responsibilities as a mother ended when Jane's morning sickness began).
Jane thought of Camille and the home that she would be returning to as soon as she could find a way out of her old bed. She was able to sneak into the house on this 3rd day of February because she received word through Camille that her parents "may or may not have been in a car on their way to Maryland for the next 4 days". She snuck in on day 2 of the mini-vacation, jiggling the lock open on the sliding glass door in the back of the house. No wonder she felt like a stranger there.
Jane felt completely numb as she crossed the living room and headed for the door. Dozen's of pictures of herself at varying ages stared back at her, each sharing in common a wide and friendly smile.
It occured to her shortly thereafter that stabbing, memory-related pains probably weren't all that good for the baby. Ignoring that logic in favor of indulging her self-destructive tendencies, she slid the comforter back even further and gingerly climbed in. Gingerly was the way that she did most things those days, always with one arm cradling her 7-month pregnant, swollen belly.
It was the first time that she had been in her bedroom in months, a bedroom that lay comfortably within a house in which she was no longer welcome. Not that she couldn't have easily forced her way back in if she so desired; sneaking out of the house as many times as Jane Quinn had in her past left her equally equipped with the knowledge of how to sneak back in. The idea that she could be kept out of her childhood house by means of a locked door and a sullen father was laughable. All it would take is a rusty bobby pin and an iron will.
And yet, it was the first time she had been in that room in months because it was the first time that being on the same street as her house wasn't emotionally, hormonally, or mentally unbearable. Not that being in her house felt any better at this point, but at least she wasn't holding back vomit or tears at the thought of her bright pink walls or her mother's Cream of Wheat.
Camille went over there often and left letters in their mailbox, as was part of the arrangement. Possibly "arrangement" is too strong a word, better replaced by "Camille's decision to forge a civil and informative relationship with Anne and Joseph Quinn".
Camille Logan handled business the right way, and believed wholeheartedly that deep down inside, Jane's parents wanted to hear the updates and details, about the things that they claimed they would "rather not know". Camille had a voiced a suspicion to her daughter Amy, that then of course found its way to Jane, that if it wasn't for Camille's delivery of biweekly update letters, Mrs. Quinn would be circling her neighborhood in her gray sedan even more often than she already did (which was surprisingly often for someone who claimed to be "uninterested in the details of her daughter's personal life from this point forward". As if her responsibilities as a mother ended when Jane's morning sickness began).
Jane thought of Camille and the home that she would be returning to as soon as she could find a way out of her old bed. She was able to sneak into the house on this 3rd day of February because she received word through Camille that her parents "may or may not have been in a car on their way to Maryland for the next 4 days". She snuck in on day 2 of the mini-vacation, jiggling the lock open on the sliding glass door in the back of the house. No wonder she felt like a stranger there.
Jane felt completely numb as she crossed the living room and headed for the door. Dozen's of pictures of herself at varying ages stared back at her, each sharing in common a wide and friendly smile.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Because Too Much is Never Enough
Tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, you will get to meet Cassidy, perhaps Lyla and Maggie. One of the three is batshit insane, and the other two are not so different
Tonight, you get to hear about my fantastic vacation and how I cant stop missing the beauty that is San Francisco. I was reluctant to love it, mostly because of the way that everyone who has been there raves about it. I'm not a contrarian or anything, but I just couldn't imagine it living up to the hype.
"I'm warning you Barb, you are going to want to live there. Everyone wants to live there," said Josh.
"We'll see. I doubt it though," responded Barb, challenging him for no apparent reason.
And yet now I am eating my words... choking on them in fact. The most appealing part of San Francisco, and the thing I noticed first, was the weather. It's hard not to notice perfection: 59 degree lows, 62 degree highs.... as someone who has lived in the south her whole life, this seems impossible. And yet, California slapped me in the face with its blue skies and lofty breezes, enslaving me like it has so many others.
Everyone in San Francisco is beautiful. In the time that we spent there, not only did I not spot 1 obese person, but I also did not see one person in spandex who did not belong in spandex... and mind you, there was A LOT of that material roaming the streets. I always thought that being around so many young, attractive people would be threatening. However, the opposite phenomenon seemed to occur for me and my 2 traveling companions. Being around young, attractive people made us in turn feel more attractive too. There is a positive energy in that town that is alluring and contagious, and we definitely indulged a bit.
There was one particular night, one sunset, that was special to me. We had just emerged from a late-afternoon showing of Julia and Julie (wonderful- applause to Meryl and Amy for once again doing good work!) and we were walking back from the theater. It was a downhill shot, and I don't know if you are familiar with San Fran, but when you are up you are UP and vice versa altitude wise. So we are at the top of this giant hill and the walk down is so steep that they have actually chiseled stairs into the sidewalk so that pedestrians like us would not topple over to our death. We paused for a good while at the top of this hill, because the view was absolutely perfect. The sun was setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge, and the entire bay was illuminated. Everything just felt so right, and me and my boyfriend walked home and thouroughly enjoyed it. Because we couldn't stand to separate from the crisp air, we invited it into our hotel via a convieniently placed sliding glass door (leading to an even more conveniently placed balcony).
I'm rambling about that night because it pretty much sums up how I felt the entire trip (when I wasn't exhausted from all of the walking): completely and utterly comfortable.
Earlier in the summer my boyfriend's family and I took a trip to Seattle and the surounding areas (Vancouver, Victoria, Forks- Hello Twilighters!). I kept comparing San Fran to this trip the whole time because they happened to be so close together. It's amazing how you can love two things so differently. Seattle and San Fran are very very different, and I loved them both. Washington was lush and expansive. Being allowed to drive on their highways felt like a privlidge, because everywhere we looked was absolutely stunning. Something about that place felt untouched, like America's best kept secret (... secrets out!)
San Fran is so popular, and for good reason. It was sunny and light where Seattle was rich and enticing. I wish that I could better explain the places, but its difficult to put into words the feelings that a place can inspire in you.
Instead... I will post pictures! Just as soon as I get back to a computer that isn't this one.
Tonight, you get to hear about my fantastic vacation and how I cant stop missing the beauty that is San Francisco. I was reluctant to love it, mostly because of the way that everyone who has been there raves about it. I'm not a contrarian or anything, but I just couldn't imagine it living up to the hype.
"I'm warning you Barb, you are going to want to live there. Everyone wants to live there," said Josh.
"We'll see. I doubt it though," responded Barb, challenging him for no apparent reason.
And yet now I am eating my words... choking on them in fact. The most appealing part of San Francisco, and the thing I noticed first, was the weather. It's hard not to notice perfection: 59 degree lows, 62 degree highs.... as someone who has lived in the south her whole life, this seems impossible. And yet, California slapped me in the face with its blue skies and lofty breezes, enslaving me like it has so many others.
Everyone in San Francisco is beautiful. In the time that we spent there, not only did I not spot 1 obese person, but I also did not see one person in spandex who did not belong in spandex... and mind you, there was A LOT of that material roaming the streets. I always thought that being around so many young, attractive people would be threatening. However, the opposite phenomenon seemed to occur for me and my 2 traveling companions. Being around young, attractive people made us in turn feel more attractive too. There is a positive energy in that town that is alluring and contagious, and we definitely indulged a bit.
There was one particular night, one sunset, that was special to me. We had just emerged from a late-afternoon showing of Julia and Julie (wonderful- applause to Meryl and Amy for once again doing good work!) and we were walking back from the theater. It was a downhill shot, and I don't know if you are familiar with San Fran, but when you are up you are UP and vice versa altitude wise. So we are at the top of this giant hill and the walk down is so steep that they have actually chiseled stairs into the sidewalk so that pedestrians like us would not topple over to our death. We paused for a good while at the top of this hill, because the view was absolutely perfect. The sun was setting behind the Golden Gate Bridge, and the entire bay was illuminated. Everything just felt so right, and me and my boyfriend walked home and thouroughly enjoyed it. Because we couldn't stand to separate from the crisp air, we invited it into our hotel via a convieniently placed sliding glass door (leading to an even more conveniently placed balcony).
I'm rambling about that night because it pretty much sums up how I felt the entire trip (when I wasn't exhausted from all of the walking): completely and utterly comfortable.
Earlier in the summer my boyfriend's family and I took a trip to Seattle and the surounding areas (Vancouver, Victoria, Forks- Hello Twilighters!). I kept comparing San Fran to this trip the whole time because they happened to be so close together. It's amazing how you can love two things so differently. Seattle and San Fran are very very different, and I loved them both. Washington was lush and expansive. Being allowed to drive on their highways felt like a privlidge, because everywhere we looked was absolutely stunning. Something about that place felt untouched, like America's best kept secret (... secrets out!)
San Fran is so popular, and for good reason. It was sunny and light where Seattle was rich and enticing. I wish that I could better explain the places, but its difficult to put into words the feelings that a place can inspire in you.
Instead... I will post pictures! Just as soon as I get back to a computer that isn't this one.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
There's money in that banana stand.
Once I retrieve my notebook from my grandmother's house, I plan to copy some new stuff into here.
For now, however, I wish to comment on the fact that my state is a solid 20 degrees warmer than I would like it to be.
It's true what they say about blogs... full of "I's".
More tonight, after my trip to Grandmas House.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Practice Makes Perfect
I like consistency, so I will consistently forget to write in this blog. I also like the word blog. It seems to be a fitting description of what I and other "bloggers" do.... throw a bunch of stuff out into the universe (cyber-verse) and let it sit and congeal and coagulate.
Just a thought.
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