Thursday, December 4, 2008

my christmas tree in 2008



It's a rather dark-themed tree by default (dark red apples, brown sleigh bells -- which are really cute). I might drop by Target today to get some lighter ornaments. The bed skirt is a pillow case, by the way. So far the cats are leaving it alone, though I did just have to yell at Hobbes for trying to mess with the apple on the bottom right. Stupid cats.

ruminating while i burn CDs

I'm starting to feel festive. We went to get a Christmas tree last night and picked a cute 4' tall tree -- one that will be easily transportable when we move.

Did I mention that we're moving? We've been looking for a duplex in the area, and I need to make a few phone calls today about some on Cherokee Rd -- right down the street. This place is getting to be too expensive. :(

So anyway, I partially decorated the tree last night, but put off the rest for today when Matt will be at work. I swear to God. He can be so annoying...but he doesn't mean to be. I think I'm about to start my period or something -- I'm not usually this touchy. But it does make me sad that he won't enjoy Christmas with me. He says he doesn't like it because for 6 weeks out of the year, everybody goes crazy with buying and decorating and other festive things, and it doesn't make any sense to him. I mean, it doesn't make much sense to me, either, but why does it have to make sense??? PLENTY of other things don't make sense. I guess I've come easily to terms with that, but maybe Matt can't. Whatever. It still makes me sad.

So anyway. I'm listening to John Rutter's the Holly and the Ivy. I can't get it to stop being bold. Okay, now the "B" is pressed up on top, but it's not bold. See? Another thing that doesn't make sense -- but that's okay. I don't care.

And I'm burning Anonymous 4's Wolcum Yule, my second favorite Christmas CD. I think I'll shower after I'm finished with this blog, then maybe a trip to Provence? Or maybe I should go there for lunch. I guess I could spend the morning cleaning. It's rather messy around here.

What's in My Journal (by William Stafford)

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beautify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't f ind them. Somebody's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.