itsallovernow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
itsallovernow) wrote2003-07-07 11:59 am
itsallovernow) wrote2003-07-07 11:59 am
Lobster is definitely a color
I have heard rumors that a cosmetics company in France makes sunscreen with an SPF of 100. Sign me up. I used SPF 45, and am still fried, most unfortunately on my ass, which is what I get for wearing my tartan bikini and lounging in the sun like I'm not just a big, pasty Northern European. Other than that, it was a nice weekend, even if I am still internet free at home. SBC, you're edging onto my list of companies that are pissing me off!
I lounged, I attended bbq's, I finished Harry Potter, I finished the latest paperback Elizabeth Peters, I got to watch the complete Monterey Pop festival documentary and spent a lot of time lost in music that holds part of my recent past.
G. and I sat on the front porch, listening to Sgt. Pepper and watched the sunset and I finally realized, my relationships don't have to be full of fire and contention. I don't have to want to throw things at the people I'm involved with. It was comforting to think that, and I thought maybe I am growing up. But then, driving down PCH with J., listening to Laid, and suddenly being 20 years old again and bonding over James with my best friend in the muggy heat of a Minnesota summer, being mosquito bit despite the plethora of cigarettes, and remembering what it felt like to ache over someone, to have terrible taste and fight and throw things, and be giddy and young, and I didn't feel so much like a grownup anymore.
I told G. about being 11, driving across the desert with my mom and my aunt and my cousin, all of us country bumpkins out to see the world, and being given squirt bottles to cool ourselves off, but it was so much more fun to squirt our mothers with water from the backseat to the strain of Eye of the Tiger being played over and over and over again on the portable tape player. Strangely enough, after Reno, Nevada, noone could find that tape. G. thought it was funny, and probably doesn't think I've changed much and didn't think I was crazy for having spent a month of my life (yes, I did actual mathematical calculations) having watched The X-Files. I won't do the math on Farscape, it'd make me giggle too much.
And finally, having been caught in this moody wave of nostalgia, I got out the Bruce Springsteen boxset, and was 12 again, the silence in the wake of my parents arguements palpable, trapped in the dark car somewhere between Colorado and Wyoming, and the boss on replay, talking about being drafted and his father, his father who kept telling him that he was living a worthless existence, being beyond relieved that he didn't have to go to Vietnam. Silence and spaces in the air filled up with all of things that don't get said.
Oh, and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kernezelda made the icon, and rubberneck is working on a title for me and supposedly there will be drabbling, but if someone could let me know when that's supposed to happen, I'd appreciate it. crankygrrl has done the first rec for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
uncharted_tales, and she picked a great one - and she's having a bad day, so send her things to cheer her up - and posted her lovely Trading Card porn over the weekend. It's very in character, and reflects the mercurial shifts in tone and attitude that characterize the J/A relationship, and the close quarters of life on Moya.
Sacrifice, and stillness afterall. I hold my breath at the end, John's compassion, putting Co-Kura in the chair, watching as Crais and Talyn self-destruct, never taking his eyes of Scorpius, whispering to myself, get in the ship, get in the ship, and whimpering at the end, Aeryn having fullfilled her duty, burned her bridges and watched the last of her ties disolve and is left now with nothing, and John turned alien and alone, ink bleeding into his skin, wearing the wormholes like a defense, all he has left.
I lounged, I attended bbq's, I finished Harry Potter, I finished the latest paperback Elizabeth Peters, I got to watch the complete Monterey Pop festival documentary and spent a lot of time lost in music that holds part of my recent past.
G. and I sat on the front porch, listening to Sgt. Pepper and watched the sunset and I finally realized, my relationships don't have to be full of fire and contention. I don't have to want to throw things at the people I'm involved with. It was comforting to think that, and I thought maybe I am growing up. But then, driving down PCH with J., listening to Laid, and suddenly being 20 years old again and bonding over James with my best friend in the muggy heat of a Minnesota summer, being mosquito bit despite the plethora of cigarettes, and remembering what it felt like to ache over someone, to have terrible taste and fight and throw things, and be giddy and young, and I didn't feel so much like a grownup anymore.
I told G. about being 11, driving across the desert with my mom and my aunt and my cousin, all of us country bumpkins out to see the world, and being given squirt bottles to cool ourselves off, but it was so much more fun to squirt our mothers with water from the backseat to the strain of Eye of the Tiger being played over and over and over again on the portable tape player. Strangely enough, after Reno, Nevada, noone could find that tape. G. thought it was funny, and probably doesn't think I've changed much and didn't think I was crazy for having spent a month of my life (yes, I did actual mathematical calculations) having watched The X-Files. I won't do the math on Farscape, it'd make me giggle too much.
And finally, having been caught in this moody wave of nostalgia, I got out the Bruce Springsteen boxset, and was 12 again, the silence in the wake of my parents arguements palpable, trapped in the dark car somewhere between Colorado and Wyoming, and the boss on replay, talking about being drafted and his father, his father who kept telling him that he was living a worthless existence, being beyond relieved that he didn't have to go to Vietnam. Silence and spaces in the air filled up with all of things that don't get said.
Oh, and
kernezelda made the icon, and rubberneck is working on a title for me and supposedly there will be drabbling, but if someone could let me know when that's supposed to happen, I'd appreciate it. crankygrrl has done the first rec foruncharted_tales, and she picked a great one - and she's having a bad day, so send her things to cheer her up - and posted her lovely Trading Card porn over the weekend. It's very in character, and reflects the mercurial shifts in tone and attitude that characterize the J/A relationship, and the close quarters of life on Moya.Sacrifice, and stillness afterall. I hold my breath at the end, John's compassion, putting Co-Kura in the chair, watching as Crais and Talyn self-destruct, never taking his eyes of Scorpius, whispering to myself, get in the ship, get in the ship, and whimpering at the end, Aeryn having fullfilled her duty, burned her bridges and watched the last of her ties disolve and is left now with nothing, and John turned alien and alone, ink bleeding into his skin, wearing the wormholes like a defense, all he has left.
no subject
Re:
no subject
The plan is to post them on our respective live journals and
That enough for ya? ;)
no subject
Hmmm. Now I have to write this thing...
Re:
Re: