idea

it's quite late at night and i just listened to lucinda williams' bus to baton rouge and am thinking about the ghosts of houses where we've lived, and how sometimes i dream i'm living at 119 e. henrietta in rochester again, and i miss it most oddly. and i can remember parts of it so vividly, and parts of it are blank now.
i'd forgotten the stupid love seat. yes... the stupid love seat.
and the fuzzy brown chair. the skanky fuzzy brown chair.
i still have the couch.
the carpet just never was clean...
the dishwasher... the air-leaking windows... the way the house shook in the wind...
the screaming children in the backyard, lining up to go into the school for retarded children.
the ambulances screaming by
trying to back the car out onto that busy street
darius playing with his guitar, endlessly twiddling the riff from ccr's green river
dave lounging around in the hallway with his feet in the air
or before that, jeremy building something in the attic
sharon curled in the brown chair with Oreo on her lap and Bailey endlessly watching her
sharon's funny round glasses
the way she'd run to greet jeremy when he got home
naked fridays
the white desk in the corner of the kitchen
the wall of shame
sliding down the stairs in my underwear at 3 am to answer the ringing phone and realizing that 1) darius has the cordless receiver in his room, 2) he's not waking up, and 3) it's indubitably for him anyway.

Sigh. History.

morning

ugh.
writing hangover.
was up till after 3.
finally fell asleep on my keyboard.
didn't drool.

time for some of the hair of the dog that bit me, i think. ahhh... where was I?

i'm lying here groggily and dave's just come into my room, hair slicked back and dripping wet onto the collar of his too-large work shirt, and flexed all his muscles for me.
"Why so manly?" I asked.
"It happens sometimes," he said, and stroked his manly beard thoughtfully. (It's a tiny patch just below his lower lip. It doesn't extend onto his chin.)
Yeees. My man is becoming a hairy man. My plot is nearly complete. Ah hah hah hah. Heh heh.

the upcoming hallmark holiday

someone seems to have mentioned to dave that valentine's day is this month. i didn't; i'd forgotten.
but anyway.
He proposed that we do something unromantic to commemmorate what bullshit valentine's day actually is.

I thought it over for a while and I have to admit, we never do anything that is romantic, so I'd be hard pressed to note the difference.

I was saying that I've never had a date for valentine's day, because the one year i was dating someone I went on a trip over the holiday so couldn't commemmorate it.
But I was with Dave last year and as I recall we were together on that date. I didn't go anywhere...
I don't remember it, but I would say it's pretty likely we didn't do anything romantic. Because I have no idea. I should probably read my lj from back then and see if i say anything. And then edit this if we did, or poor Dave will be offended...

... Just checked.
I think we went to visit my folks. And that was it. Yup yup yup.

So, i rest my case. Not doing anything romantic would be utterly unremarkable. Doing something decidedly unromantic would be possibly entertaining in that it would be doing something, which we never do...

Ah well. I'm a bitter, raddled old hag of 24, with a terrible writing hangover. I'm about to make the link to the blog where I've been blogging the writing of my novel public, once i fix the damn page. :)

(no subject)

Dave: Providing a unique combination of sarcastic foreplay and efficient sex, in a really appealing package.