Mar. 17th, 2011

gyzym: (Journals)
Happy Saint Patrick's Day, folks! Hope you're all drinking green beer/dancing about completely sober/doing exactly what you feel like doing :D

Pupdate: she still hasn't come back, which, just, augh, trying not to think about it. Per [livejournal.com profile] we_reflamingos's excellent suggestion, I put a call in to the Humane Society to see if they sent someone out to pick her up after all, am waiting to hear back, so we'll see. I'll keep you guys posted, and thanks again for all the help ♥

In other news, here, apropos of exactly nothing, is the poem I am currently working on! Thoughts--what, if anything, worked for you, what didn't--are, as always, appreciated, as this is only in its first or second iteration and will probably be edited 65 times before I actually do anything with it. And, on this topic, because I've gotten this question before: I don't care if you know anything about poetry or not, I'm not asking for, you know, literary theory or anything (though I would, of course, welcome it). Poems, both in terms of reading them and writing them, are about emotional response for me; as far as I'm concerned, if you have ever had an emotion, you are more that qualified to opine on any poem you come across :D

held at ballpoint
swept from my slippery fingers the letters
i could have written you
were sent anyway; the blank pages probably
don't make much sense, smell sticky,
like motor oil and honey,
like small seeking hands.

sorry. if i'd had less shame, more courage, i'd've said
everything, all the words i kept
tucked up amongst the other things we don't touch;
shelves upon shelves of our failings,
bumping together, dripping ink
unnoticed into my hair.

your mailbox is full, now, with pages on pages of
nothing; take them as you will
an overture, perhaps, for years yet to come
a goodbye i never said, or maybe just
for what they are: lines
waiting, hungry, to be filled.
gyzym: (Matches)
No, really, he does. True story.

Also, oh my god, you guys, I'm sorry, I am sorry, I am so sorry, I know I'm spamming you today, but I just. I cannot believe this just happened, I cannot even believe this is my family, I swear to god I'll go a couple hours without posting anything after this, dsfhsdkjfd.

Right, okay, so before I tell this story, I have to explain something, lest you all think I am a terrible person: in my life, an extremely intimate family gathering is 20 people. Thanksgiving, when it's on the small side, usually hovers somewhere between 40 and 65, and that's just one branch of the, like, ridiculous empire that is my various and sundry relations. Once you get further out than like first cousins, things get complicated; people are ranked by a complex and deeply inexplicable system based on shit that happened 30 years ago and family politics and who isn't speaking to whom this week. I have third cousins I call uncle and aunts I've never met--there's a large category of folks to whom my only technical connection is "well, they're also Jewish and their grandmother was once friends with my grandmother," but who are more important to me than any number of actual blood relations. And the thing is that when you've got a network of people this big to contend with, everyone just falls under the umbrella of "well, they're family," which translates loosely to, "we are allowed to say bad shit about them, but no one else is, EVER."

This leads to interactions like this one between me and my father before Passover last year (I have changed the name herein; I do not actually have even one cousin Ricky, let alone two...er, as far as I know):

Me: I'm going to order the brisket for Pesach.
My Father: Okay, but you gotta go to a different guy this year, we can't go to our guy anymore.
Me: What? Why?
My Father: Well, you know cousin Ricky?
Me: The one who works downtown?
My Father: No, the other one.
Me: There's another cousin Ricky?
My Father: Yeah, you've maybe never met him, he's--doesn't matter, look, the point is, his son and the brisket guy's son, they were supposed to start a business together, and this kid screwed Ricky's kid out of the deal, so we can't buy from his father anymore.
Me: ...
My Father: Don't look at me like that. It's family.

THE POINT OF THIS ENTIRE LONG WINDED TALE IS: IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT SOMETIMES I RUN INTO PEOPLE WHO ARE RELATED TO ME AND DON'T RECOGNIZE THEM. "Family" is a really broad term for me, okay? JUDGE ME NOT.

Anyway, I told you that story to tell you this story: Cut for ridiculous nonsense about my family take 37438942 )

DEAR EVERYONE: IF MY LIFE IS ACTUALLY A LARRY DAVID PRODUCED VERSION OF THE TRUMAN SHOW, PLEASE JUST TELL ME NOW. IT WOULD BE THE KIND THING TO DO, REALLY.

ETA: Okay, I have to go to dinner now, but somehow this turned into a giant thread about Arthur and Eames and Arthur's family, which you guys should TOTALLY ADD TO WHILE I'M GONE :D

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gyzym

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