I sat down today to set some goals for myself this week. On the list, among other things: finishing up the draft of the chapter I’ve been working on; making some truffles; taking a day off from technology. Other things, getting right with some people, setting aside some time to finish the book I’m reading (A Widow for One Year, John Irving, quite enjoyable). I’ve decided to set goals for myself every week, not so much because I feel like I’m floating (though that’s part of it) but because for all that I’m spending 99% of my time with myself, not much of it is quality time, if that makes sense. The simple act of sitting down and asking myself what I want for the week seems to be a good place to start. So.
Finn is home and we’re settling back into things. It’s been a slightly difficult but utterly welcome adjustment. (We’re still re-learning to sleep in the same bed together… it’s amazing how quickly your body learns to take over the entire bed when you lose your sleepmate. Apparently I’m quite the cover thief these days.) She’s been insanely busy, so my days actually don’t look all that different – doing my own thing, mostly. But it’s beyond wonderful to have her around in the evenings, snuggled under a down throw, warm in our cozy apartment.
I’m glad it didn’t really snow until she got back; I fell in love with her in winter, and nothing brings me back to myself, and back to us, quite like watching watching a snowfall with her. To think I used to hate winter.
We decorated for Christmas last night. I’m kind of obsessed with Christmas; it’s a big holiday in my family, and I adore the traditions of my childhood. Somehow Finn and I haven’t quite managed to get our own traditions off the ground – she isn’t so big on the traditional in general, and her family isn’t religious, so from what I gather the holiday season didn’t have quite the same significance for her family that it did for mine. But she’s willing to play along since it’s so important to me.
An example of our traditions not quite living up to expectations: last night she was supposed to have work until 6, after which we had big plans for a roasted chicken dinner, which we were going to eat while cheerily decking the halls, listening to christmas music and sipping mulled wine. Lovely, right? But then her work stuff got pushed back, she didn’t get home til after 8, the chicken nearly started a grease fire and set off the smoke alarms, and the cats kept trying to eat the tree. All of which was made worse by the fact that I was PMSing, both of us had low blood sugar, and there was a sleeping baby upstairs . (I swear to god it was like a bad sitcom.) Last night I was grumpy – though somewhat pacified by the mulled wine, admittedly – but today it just seems ridiculous. There’s me, wrapping lights around the tree, tripping over angry cats and poking myself in the eye with passing branches; there’s Finn, frantically running around opening windows, desperate and fanning the smoke with a plastic cutting board…
The star on top of the tree is crooked, and I can’t get it to stay upright. But after last night, it seems poetic, somehow; I think I’ll just leave it.
I’m making pot roast for dinner and it’s making the whole house smell delicious. I’m also experimenting with desserts; today I’m attempting the aforementioned truffles. I managed to slice my thumb open while chopping, which wasn’t a big deal except it bled EVERYWHERE and I could not for the life of me find a band-aid in this house. So I’m currently rocking a really fancy paper towel square wrapped in scotch tape contraption – go makeshift first aid.
My hair is getting really long. For me, I mean, which means it’s like 3 inches long. I’m “growing it out” to at least semi-shaggy levels, I think, just to see what happens… but I feel like I’m going to have to call in the professionals soon. I haven’t had a professional haircut since… hmm. I want to say pre-dreadlocks, which would make it something like 8 years? There may have been one real cut in there at some point, but really it has been at LEAST 5 years. I’ve just been cutting it myself for so long that the idea of going somewhere makes me nervous. At least if I fuck it up I didn’t pay money for it. (That’s probably not a good reason to avoid it, is it?) So far it just looks like my same haircut, only longer, and I can’t really do the fauxhawk thing anymore because it’s too long. I’m digging it, though. I’m just terrified I’m going to hit the inevitable mullet stage of any grow-out and no one’s going to tell me. Hence, the desire for professional help.
Wow, this got all rambly. Alright, off to check out the state of my truffles.
Oh, one last: this blog is nearly a year old. (::tear:: They grow up so fast, huh?) Seriously though, I kind of can’t believe it. I just want to thank everyone who checks in here and then checks in with me – either in the comments or the emails or texts or whatever. I feel like most of my posts are boring and not worth reading, but I’m always glad for any excuse for my pals – internety or otherwise – to give me a shout. So thanks for reading, and for reaching out. You’re all pretty amazing.