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brightbluegirlI could write about Thursday night when Andrew tryed to convince me that I'm beautiful, and my realization that what I think beautiful is automatically precludes me... and that he dragged me over to the mirror to look at our faces together.
I could write about the morning I went in to work late, and stayed an hour to snuggle with Andrew, and we pressed our bodies together and spooned, and I felt every inch of him, and composed odes to love... funny, goopy, loving things borne out of a necessity to tell the world that I am whole.
I could write about finally seeing the Lord of the Rings... about how I didn't cry at all the obvious scenes (except when Aragorn saw Arwen again and kissed her - see above paragraphs if you really need more proof of my goofiness), but I kept crying during the war scenes, because war is so futile and barbaric, and every person in war knows he or she is going to die, and I've known how stupid it is for so long but it just fucking keeps happening, Iraq, Afghanistan, everywhere... in a book, I can just skim over war pages, but you can't skim a movie.
I could write about fabricland, sales, and finally choosing patterns for the big day... we found Andrew a fantastic floor-length robe pattern, with buttons all the way down... it's kind of matrix, but better, because it's ours.
But Andrew hurt his back again tonight. He wasn't doing anything, just sitting in a chair, but it really hurts. I've put him in a hot bath, and I'm so angry. I want him to quit his job right now. Just quit. And be damned to the consequences. Money has never been, nor never will be, as important to me as the health of this perfect man.
I could write about the morning I went in to work late, and stayed an hour to snuggle with Andrew, and we pressed our bodies together and spooned, and I felt every inch of him, and composed odes to love... funny, goopy, loving things borne out of a necessity to tell the world that I am whole.
I could write about finally seeing the Lord of the Rings... about how I didn't cry at all the obvious scenes (except when Aragorn saw Arwen again and kissed her - see above paragraphs if you really need more proof of my goofiness), but I kept crying during the war scenes, because war is so futile and barbaric, and every person in war knows he or she is going to die, and I've known how stupid it is for so long but it just fucking keeps happening, Iraq, Afghanistan, everywhere... in a book, I can just skim over war pages, but you can't skim a movie.
I could write about fabricland, sales, and finally choosing patterns for the big day... we found Andrew a fantastic floor-length robe pattern, with buttons all the way down... it's kind of matrix, but better, because it's ours.
But Andrew hurt his back again tonight. He wasn't doing anything, just sitting in a chair, but it really hurts. I've put him in a hot bath, and I'm so angry. I want him to quit his job right now. Just quit. And be damned to the consequences. Money has never been, nor never will be, as important to me as the health of this perfect man.
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health
Date: 2004-01-11 12:54 am (UTC)Re: health
Date: 2004-01-11 09:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-11 11:01 am (UTC)2.I'm glad you're in love.
3.My only real problem with LOTR was the elf killing the elephants. I mean, what did the elephants ever do?
4.Sounds like Andrew needs some bodywork.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-11 12:15 pm (UTC)We can't afford bodywork for my man. He's going to the chiropractor, at least. Come visit, we'll feed and house you and tell you jokes for shiatsu. The friendship, of course, is free. :D
no subject
Date: 2004-01-11 09:59 pm (UTC)