christina

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Chain Stir
An Itch, Sir
Sat Rich In
His Tin Car
I Hint Scar
Char in Its
Inch Star, I
Can Hit, Sir
Rich Saint
Is Arc Thin


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well
what's in your name?

how the air must feel in the space between words

Today is one week before my first classes. I don't know what to do with it yet. I've been scared then excited then jittery then smart then doubtful then flighty then shy then everything then nothing and at this point time better just go by quick because I'm starting around the circle all over again. Today is only three days before I go and stay away from my family for the first time for the first time for the first time in a long time or ever. Now that you feel sorry for me it's just for one night. Small steps. I think I should stop writing so much about myself. It must be bad for the environment. Unfortunately it's pretty much all I do here. That's why I like this place. It's got a lot of me and somehow I still like it. And now that I have to get all bizzy bizzy, I don't know what will happen to it. Will someone take over for me? All you have to do is say I a lot and put some verbs nouns and lots of lovely adjectives in front of it and throw in a few pictures of a white dog and bam you're a SUB BLOGGER, poorly paid but strangely pleased. Anybody? You probably know more about it than I do. Which is hard to believe, I know.

Naptime

*

To each their own.

Ever since the slumber party 3 year olds spent the morning pounding their sticky fists on it, my Spinet sounds lightheaded and on the verge of falling out of tune again. The fifth octave especially is beginning to sound super jangly. These are the moments I think I will only have 12 kids instead of thirteen and absolutely none of them will ever be three years old, because that is the age when you don't even think about stopping them when they're ruining your beautiful instrument because they're cute, just so evil and cute. I have been practicing Debussy on it anyway, for a long time, la fille aux cheveaux de lin - The Girl with the Flaxen hair, which has always been my favorite that I forget about, until I play it and hear it and it reminds me once again of someone that I can never quite put my finger on and I'm not sure but I think it's the someone I want to be.

When something is wrong with my baby, oh
something is wrong with me

Isaac Hayes

I don't feel like watching the Olympics

Honestly, I'm not sure it wouldn't be a brilliant idea to have the Opening Ceremony at the end of everything or at least somewhere in the middle. Seriously. Would you broadcast four hours of pure distilled amazingness and then tell people now get really excited because we are going to watch volleyball? No, you wouldn't. We are only human beings and it is boring. You'd think someone would catch this.
I thought I should whine that all today my eyes burn and I don't want to clean up other people's messes or take vitamins or do much of anything even that I want to do. A little while ago I tried to nap and I slept for about eleven minutes and had about that many dreams right after each other until one when I was stepping where there was no step and my whole body fell right down le gasp onto my very own bed and I woke up and realized a few things. Namely, that a) there was a blue HOT WHEELS® car sticking me right in the back and my pillow smelled quite certainly of diapers, b)I was cold, and c) the handyman in the bathroom across the hall was talking to himself again. The first two items are explained easily enough by the fact that a bunch of three year olds had a sleepover party in my bed last night, a party apparently complete with mini car races sticky fingers and poop, while I curled up in the basement and got a chill and four hours of sleep. The third is different. Besides the fact that the handyman is not very handy, nobody trusts him much. People's history follows them in this house. I'm undecided. He doesn't make me nervous but the fact that I can't figure him out, does. He did admit the night I torched the trash to being fascinated by fire, which gives him tentative points in my little book of observed people. Most of the day he mutters and hammers and sometimes screws something up and says OH FFFF....iddlesticks... and at least all the three year olds aren't around anymore to hear such shocking language and I don't mind a lot. Not like my bathroom hasn't been my rehab center before. Which sounds weird. In other news, it's gold outside.

Today I feel like this

And I just don't want to talk about it.

Nothing happened

So now I go running the dirt roads every morning I can, and I walk with Kiddy around and under the hanging peach trees and then we stop at the barn and I make him stand while I brush his white smooth coat from his nose to his tail and he likes it and I say, I will be here to run with you.

I haven't thought much about writing. Nothing happened. It rained and filled up the ground. Our uncle drank himself to the hospital. We waded barefoot down the wide shale creek. The sun came and it got hot. I listened to baseball. I missed a lot. I couldn't help it.

So now I sit at my piano and feel covered in my perfect music shaped bubble because I don't have to hear or tell or remember anything but this. And I wish I wish I wish you could feel exactly what it is, this golden ageless pain that shines right on my inside that is all mine and yet not about me, because I can't say it. You I guess would have to be me to feel it and for my part I don't wish that on anyone for too long.

I got angry and bored and made my heart too nervous to write. Nothing happened. I created some drama until it was real. It was a part of me and I didn't know much without it. I broke with the wind and the concern was crippling. I looked down and up. I decided I wouldn't grow up without God.

So now I don't want to be any farther from home than the runaway trails or the river because from there I could always come back. I can still always come back. But they were home too. This, is not. Though human beings, they adapt. But we who aren't always make big deals out of things that aren't. You can see why I have to tell my head shut up just to get any sleep.

I thought I should say

The regular compyooter has been dead for quite a while. The Paterfamilias is Home Depot shopping and I am borrowing his, in this small neatly cluttered office that is hidden below the floorboards and forbidden to all but the reckless. The Princess Goddess Divine is on the floor next to me staring disdainfully at a blue chew bone which apparently is not what served as her entertainment in the great pens from whence she cometh. Now she is sitting with her back to the door and blinking meditatively in my direction. Even more recently she has taken up sighing, as if to say quite gleefully if I pee there'll be hell you know. Dogs should never be given names that are longer than Tolstoy's War and Peace and if they are they shouldn't find out about it. I've always held that's why Flash is so lovely and simple. Today it was about 140 degrees with unbreathing humidity hanging over the fields and I found him retreated into the lilac bush so I took him to the pond. We like the pond. I let a highway turtle go into the pond a few days ago. Before that I'd told Mum, Mum, I've got a turtle here in a box I'm bringing home and she said oh Christina you don't need a turtle, you're going to college apparently not comprehending I did not intend on keeping him and for the love of God what does that have to do with anything anyway. I laughed and cried. I never thought I would be frightened of August and feel propelled forward by every day and thrown into every tomorrow. I'm not afraid but I'm scared and I don't want to. Be anything or go anywhere else I mean. Not yet.