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Itchy eyes, tired feet
Dec. 3rd, 2003 10:34 am( Like a Rolling Stone )
So tired today. Came home from rehearsal to find a living room full of boys playing video games. Sat down, had a beer, the next thing I knew it was 2:30 in the morning. My eyes feel like someone pulled them out and then stuck 'em back in my head haphazardly.
I'm reading Homicide:A Year on the Killing Streets and damn is it good. Makes me want to tune out the world and just finish it. The book's dense and painful and gorgeously drawn.
Watched Alias on Sunday, and the season finale of MI-5 as I lay like a slug on the couch, burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail. Enjoyed them both muchly, although I still have such little sympathy for Sydney. I want to feel for her, but find myself lacking. But Jack, Jack's the man.
I bought my plane tickets home, as well. 10 days of family and practically no internet, and I should be bald with serious TMJ from the hair pulling and the teeth gritting. I love my family, but the holidays tend to bring out the craziness, in both them and me. I can't hold them completely responsible for my ill temper and frustrations. They mean well. And they're good people, but all of my frustrations with my own life tend to spill out onto them when they poke and prod for information. And I think the world is going to end because I have agreed, after 15 years of laughing refusal to allow my mother to set me up with someone. I thought she was going to drop from shock when I agreed.
Decided to come back to L.A. for New Years and am vaguely regretting it. I am just absurdly indecisive and edgy this time of the year, when I should be joyous and giddy at the thought of vacation and family and holiday things. At least they don't make me go to church anymore. I think it was the sighing comment last time that there was an awful lot of God in the service. (Hey , it was a Christmas eve service. I go because it's pretty and shiny and generally snowy, there's supposed to be singing and candlelighting and readings and no sermon, and the minister talked for 20 frelling minutes when I could have been belting out Christams carols in my raggedy off tune voice!!).
So, the holidays make me snappish and sad, with little bursts of hope. They mean the New Year, and reckoning of accomplishment, and I feel like I haven't done a damned thing, and well, I'm not gonna save the world in the next 27 days. But I also love them, and need to keep telling myself that.
So, regale me with holiday tales. Disasters, fights, nice things that have happened on the winter holidays.
So tired today. Came home from rehearsal to find a living room full of boys playing video games. Sat down, had a beer, the next thing I knew it was 2:30 in the morning. My eyes feel like someone pulled them out and then stuck 'em back in my head haphazardly.
I'm reading Homicide:A Year on the Killing Streets and damn is it good. Makes me want to tune out the world and just finish it. The book's dense and painful and gorgeously drawn.
Watched Alias on Sunday, and the season finale of MI-5 as I lay like a slug on the couch, burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail. Enjoyed them both muchly, although I still have such little sympathy for Sydney. I want to feel for her, but find myself lacking. But Jack, Jack's the man.
I bought my plane tickets home, as well. 10 days of family and practically no internet, and I should be bald with serious TMJ from the hair pulling and the teeth gritting. I love my family, but the holidays tend to bring out the craziness, in both them and me. I can't hold them completely responsible for my ill temper and frustrations. They mean well. And they're good people, but all of my frustrations with my own life tend to spill out onto them when they poke and prod for information. And I think the world is going to end because I have agreed, after 15 years of laughing refusal to allow my mother to set me up with someone. I thought she was going to drop from shock when I agreed.
Decided to come back to L.A. for New Years and am vaguely regretting it. I am just absurdly indecisive and edgy this time of the year, when I should be joyous and giddy at the thought of vacation and family and holiday things. At least they don't make me go to church anymore. I think it was the sighing comment last time that there was an awful lot of God in the service. (Hey , it was a Christmas eve service. I go because it's pretty and shiny and generally snowy, there's supposed to be singing and candlelighting and readings and no sermon, and the minister talked for 20 frelling minutes when I could have been belting out Christams carols in my raggedy off tune voice!!).
So, the holidays make me snappish and sad, with little bursts of hope. They mean the New Year, and reckoning of accomplishment, and I feel like I haven't done a damned thing, and well, I'm not gonna save the world in the next 27 days. But I also love them, and need to keep telling myself that.
So, regale me with holiday tales. Disasters, fights, nice things that have happened on the winter holidays.
