Yesterday I came home from work at 6:30 PM on the bus in the dark and I was just crying. I feel ya, Pony--this black miasma of depressingness just came over me like fog from the lake. I was crying on the bus, and when I got home to apartment the waterworks began to flow in earnest. I guess B.f. was crying yesterday too, or something, because it was just a damn depressing day. He was trying to cheer me up, which worked, because I wanted to make sardine sandwiches (and nothing else) for dinner and he wanted to make linguine, and so we got in a fake disagreement about who was cooking what, and then we started smiling and laughing again...
We ate dinner and had a cigarette (thank GOD, I was going to go blinkin' insane from not having had one since 10 AM that morning, and B.f. rolls the best cigarettes) and watched some MTV2 show about the "tightest rhymes" in rap songs. I think the show was designed for ignorant suburbanites who couldn't understand Busta Rhymes--and who can't understand Busta Rhymes? WOO-HA! But then we were sitting around for a little bit and it was very quiet, so I made the suggestion of "Maybe you should call your Grandma" since she's sent us 2 cards recently with strong hints urging you to call her, and she's going to have heart surgery on January 18th, so I think a call from you would encourage her... So B.f. called his Grandma. She was so glad to hear from him, it was a delight to hear. She answered the phone with a slightly formal "Hello?" and then when B.f. said "Hi Grandma, it's me" her voice instantly melted and got really happy to hear from him. She was telling him all about the weather in New Mexico, and asking whether he had gotten her Christmas gifts and whether he liked them (and yes, he did) and she was reassuring him that if we needed help, we should NOT HESITATE to call her (she repeated that a lot)...I asked if I could talk to her. She was just SO cool on the phone--I've never really 'had' cool-style American grandparents. My father's mother was 92 years old when I was 7 or 8, and she passed away soon afterwards, so I never really got to know her. And my mother's italian parents live in Italy and are very aged as well, plus they're italian, so it's not like they're going to suggest baking cookies or going to see movies together. So I just feel that B.f. is so lucky and blessed to have really awesome grandparents for both his parents, and his Grandma Geneah was so friendly. Well, first she expressed disbelief that I was an actual person. Her exact words were;
"Well, Victoria, you really exist! How wonderful to talk to you!"
And then we talked about her cats, and living in New Mexico, and the really nice book about Shakespeare that she got me as a Christmas present. And then she reminded me to tell B.f. that if we ever need help, we should call her. The ironic thing is, we *do* need help, but I sincerely doubt we could ever call her. I wish we could just go over there for a visit, because she sounds like the kind of person you could talk to for hours...we were talking about her cats, who are named, respectively, Bling-Bling, Delilah Delila-Dee-lite, and something else that I can't remember like Todfrey. She was describing how Delilah Delila-Dee-Lite got eaten by a coyote, which was very sad, and then we talked about some other things, like my artwork (she said I was "damn good") and then I gave the phone back to B.f., who talked a little bit more, then said goodbye. I was overall very glad that he/we had given her a call. She was so happy to hear from him!
And then we went downstairs and finally did the damn laundry. We had a very interesting conversation, which sort've degenerated at the end because we were talking about travelling in Europe and I was describing how after Italy switched to the Euro, everything there became far more expensive, which was getting him sad...and then we had to fold the laundry, and we were suddenly so exhausted that folding socks took an extreme effort.
And then we went to bed at 11, after drinking some hot chocolate, but I hadn't bothered to make the bed so it was a big mish-mosh of blankets that were misalligned, so neither of us were comfortable/warm and we ended up fighting for blanket bits while we both had disturbing dreams.
SOME OF MY DISTURBING DREAMS, THAT I REMEMBER: >being in a bathtub outside of my old church that I used to go to, trying to shave my legs with a disposable razor that kept on slipping under the water and then trying to call people >discovering that my parents lived in a vintage 1960's home in which everything was in perfect condition, trying to persuade them not to get rid of everything like the vintage sofa, etc. >being out in the rain reading paperback books
and B.f. had dreams that people were dying of ebola. So neither of us slept very well at all. And then we "woke up" at like 10 this morning, and I did the dishes out of sheer necessity, and I made gnarfy pancakes (well, B.f. said they were okay but I think he was just being nice, the same way that he's nice when he tells me that I look beautiful in the morning with my hair in gnotty clumps and my face all blaugh without makeup...aww) and then I went to work. And saw my friend Katie! and we're going to get to go out and have a lunch break! this will be awesome!
And if you are reading this, Robin, I will call you and I'd love to hang out tomorrow!
And isabelle, it's nice to know that I'm not the only one who is touched by EXTREME HOME MAKEOVER...it's just so overwhelming, you know? and I empathize with those people in some way, because i know that if I ever get student loans, it will be like that--I mean, I will be overwhelmed by gratitude and relief and joy.