Less Than 48 Hours Until...

La lune

La lune se lève
elle se lance dans mes rêves
où, toute la nuit
elle me suit

Accrochée au ciel
blanche comme du lait
dorée comme miel

De son perchoir au-dessus
elle me tourmente
Je m’en fou !

La lune se lève
elle se lance dans mes rêves
où, toute la nuit
elle me suit

Papa Qui?

Papa, qui m’appelle Citrouille et Liezel,
qui est grandes chaussures brunes et une cuiller en bois,
qui est la farine sur mon nez, une chemise de tissu écossai,
de qui les cheveux sont tous blancs,
est trop occupé de jouer aujourd’hui,
qui me dit qu’il m’aime,
qui me dit que je suis sa chèrie,
peut pas jouer aujourd’hui
travaille au bureau toute la journée, toute la nuit,
est malade, elle chuchote,
a trop de faire, il crie,
ne le dérange pas,
qui habite dans une seule salle, son bureau,
qui se couche après nous, qui se lève très tôt,
qui travaille, qui travaille, qui me réprimande, qui travaille,
qui me dit qu’il m’aime
qui me dit que je suis sa chèrie
Papa qui ?

On top of that...

Oh, wait, I am not just incredibly overwhelmed AND crampy, I am actually physically ill. Brilliant.

Tuesday sucks. (Tomorrow will be better?)

#%&@$*!

It can't be done. I can't make it. I have so much homework left to do that it makes me laugh, which sounds like crying, which makes Andrea laugh, which makes us both cry because we are so overwhelmed. The word "homework" has sent us into hysterics six times so far tonight. Each time Jocelyn laughs so hard watching us that she lies down on the floor. Tears stream down my face and Andrea doubles over and I am eating popcorn like my life depends on it because I am crampy and miserable. Twice I made witty, sarcastic remarks, which was very unlike me but impressed Jocelyn nonetheless. The only conclusions we can reach is that (a) we simply must live through tomorrow on as much caffeine as possible, and (b) the only reason boys are so macho and chill is because they don't have one week each month where all they want to do is shoot themselves in the face. The latter sent us all into fits which lasted long enough that I probably could have accomplished something decent in the time I spent falling out of my desk chair, doubled over in laughter/tears and wincing in abdominal pain.

I am having a nervous breakdown. And the saddest part is that I find time to blog about it.

Wrong Keyboard

I'm itching to write something. My fingers are tapping on the keys as I stare at this empty box but when I listen that they are not twitching in the anticipation of words, but that they are in fact playing the second movement of the Shostakovich Concerto No. 2.

Boy, it sure sounds better on the piano.

But Before I Go To Sleep...

The cutest thing I have ever seen. Well, one of them, anyway.

Lazy Day

At ten-thirty I said I was going to bed. And then facebook found me. And now Andrea and I are watching a movie together. I also napped twice today. Today is lazy.

It's sad, because it had the potential to be an amazing day, but my four hours of sleep would NOT let me enjoy it. But TOMORROW, tomorrow is perfect. I can already tell.

It's eleven o'clock, and it's bedtime.

Procrastinating

I love the snow.
"Well, maybe this life is like your bed. This life is like your bed."
Today is good. Tomorrow will be better.

The Answer To My Prayers

Someone of importance obviously reads my blog. Thank God for snow.

I'm watching the snow out my window and my room is clean and the heat is blasting and I'm listening to The Postal Service and life is good.

Sleet, Rain, A Shrug Of My Shoulders Because It Doesn't Matter If It's Not Snow

Melissa just walked into my room to announce that it was snowing outside. In her skirt and suede moccasins, was in need of a change of clothes after being outside in the cold, she said. I excitedly opened my blinds (with Heloise's wishes in mind, of course) to find some bizarre mix of rain and sleet. Contrary to popular belief, sleet is not snow, and it does not make children happy. Have a little mercy, hein?

Morning

Something really good is happening to me.
And I like it.
A lot.

Heloïse

For the past week, Thomas and Heloïse have been watching a puddle at the corner of Belden and Geneva. Monday and Tuesday it was liquid, murky and brown, bits of leaves and mud sticking to Heloïse's pink sneakers as she trudged through it. By Wednesday, a thin layer of ice deceived us until the stroller wheels easily broke through what looked, to us, like the possibility of a snowy day. "Pas de neige, pas aujourd-hui," Heloïse exclaimed with a sigh fitting for a barely four-year-old.

Today, however, the puddle was completely frozen. Heloïse's micheivous smile and the dimples on her cheeks said unmistakably that she understood the significance of the puddle's état gelé. This afternoon, holding tight to the poussette as we walked home, talk didn't stray from the hope of a white morning tomorrow.

So, for Heloïse, and for the sake of my my sanity tomorrow, please let it snow!

Life Is Like A Box Of Chocolates

I skipped the gym today and ate a really amazing piece of mint chocolate instead. But what's life if you can't enjoy it, anyway?

The Kind Of Person I Am

I suck at blogging.

I said it from the start - I don't know how I feel about this whole thing. After all, I'm a pen-on-paper kind of girl, and the persistent tapping of my keyboard is far less romantic than the giant, dead-give-away of a callus I've formed on my right ring finger. And please - I have already been told that such a callus should be found on my MIDDLE finger. I hold my pen incorrectly, so what? That's just the kind of person I am.

All of that being said, I'm not giving up. Because that is also the kind of person I am.

So, I'm just sitting at my (currently messy and therefore driving me insane) desk and listening to Elliott Smith, an old obsession I never could kick. And as I slip further and further into depression (thanks to Elliott, of course), I'm imagining that I could put off doing my Italian homework until tomorrow. Suddenly, my dream becomes reality. I CAN put it off, of course. I do whatever I want! Of course, whatever I want (like the concept of a meal, of late) is quite relative, and I may forever be known as a bit of a rule embracer (hard to break those elementary school stereotypes when one lives in a place like Yellow Springs). So, I've decided to do a bit tonight and save the rest for tomorrow, when I will surely want nothing more than to listen to more Elliott Smith and overdose on cough syrup or birth control (the only real medicines in my bathroom cabinet) in an attempt to reach a world where verb conjugations and obscure grammatical exceptions don't exist.

But actually I'll just smile through it all, anxiously and contentedly awaiting the weekend, when I will find a way to reward myself, because that's just the kind of person I am.

Regina Spektor On Life

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
Then try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some-
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again.

Lyrics for M.

I whispered "hello" as you passed me
But recognition never passed your face
You cocked your head to one side
Readjusted your dress
And decided to dismiss me, again.
I've replayed this scene so many times in my mind
But each time it goes the same way
You walk away
Please prove me wrong for once
Please stay.

We all have moments
That we'd like to replay
I want to rewind
I'm sorry.

We once sat for an hour
At your kitchen table
And picked out the songs
That said just what we felt
We sorted with purpose but ended up feeling shallow
We should have just said the words
Ourselves.

But these words are the ball and I'm passing it back
Please do not toss it aside.
Even though we always fought
I loved you an awful lot
An awful lot.
I'm sorry.