you don't know how lovely you are
Tell me five things you're thankful for.

I am thankful for lullabies. For laughter. For kissing in the laundry room. For a boy who laughs at me when I lie in my sleep and holds my hand and talks about heaven with serious eyes while we're walking the dog.

I am thankful for chocolate on the tip of my nose and flour on my clothes and slow dancing in the kitchen until the timer goes off. For the warmth of breathing against my neck when I'm too tired to keep my eyes open. For down-feather quilts. For acoustic guitars. For a conception of forever that doesn't scare me.

I am thankful for little dogs with sad eyes and shoeboxes and photos. For songs that make me cry. For snow. For blue skies. For songbirds. For mittens and quiet streets and stars and lines from poems.

I am thankful for the words "I love you" and the ability to giggle. For the ticklish spot under my chin that only he can find. For the fact that he can find it with his eyes closed. For love-lies-bleeding flowers and weekends and body lotion and slippers.

I am thankful for yesterday and five minutes ago and tomorrow and ten years from now. But mostly, I am thankful that I can't name just five.


Your turn. Someone tell me five things they're thankful for.

S'all.


slow dancing in a burning room.
I need to get laid.

Actually, I need to make out with a boy in the back of a truck.

Or both.

Except really, it's not about the sex or the making out. (Maybe a little.) It's about me and a boy being in close enough proximity to do so. Really, we could just sit and gaze lovingly into each others' eyes. (Except that doesn't really happen.) Or... talk. We could sit in very, very close proximity and talk, and maybe I could tell him that I just get so frustrated from a lack of close proximity. And I could tell him that I've told him this before, and I don't think he really understood, because I think it's one of those differences between a girl and a boy. But I tried to explain. I tried, I tried, and I thought he sort of got it. And he explained things right back to me, and I tried to sort of get those, too. And I do get them. I do, I do. I just desperately, desperately miss close proximities.

And maybe it's a girl thing. I'm very willing to categorise it as a girl thing. Close proximities = lovey-dovey feelings that maybe boys don't always feel the need to partake in. But girls do. We really, really do. I really, really do. And this boy could tell me that I keep repeating things twice, and I'd tell him that it seems to take so much more than twice to make a point, sometimes. Even a big, important point. A big, important point that I might hate bringing up to this boy yet again, because he might very well just roll his eyes and tell me that life doesn't always accomodate for close proximities. But then I would tell him that I mean completely innocent ones, too, not just back-of-the-truck ones. I mean walking around the block, because at least that's time spent outside of crowded rooms, when we aren't busy with anything but walking. And maybe holding hands with mittens, because it's cold enough for mittens.

And then I might tell him, while sitting in close proximities or holding hands with mittens, that I guess I know he's joking, but I don't try to be a bitch, and it's hard, sometimes, to nod and smile when he tells me that I'm a line in a song, and then laughs. Because I don't even have those lovey-dovey feelings to weigh against day-to-day things that probably shouldn't bother me but do, because we're just seriously not in close proximity enough.

And he might tell me that I'm asking too much, but then, I'll have to say that I don't know how to be okay with things that I'm not okay with because they make me sad, and I can't change what makes me sad. I can try, but it doesn't always work. And I have tried, and it hasn't really worked, because... things haven't really changed from what originally made me sad.

And I guess I'd tell this boy that I know I'm really complicated, because I send stay away signals when I mean come here, please, come here, and I know those aren't so inviting, but I also guess that he just doesn't see my possibly completely mixed up trying. Because really, this boy, being anywhere near close proximity, would know that I'm not such a graceful girl. I trip in the parking lot when I wear heels (with a short skirt that was fairly sexy but way too cold, and worn because I was trying to make some girl-point that I don't even understand, but I smelled good, and that was part of the point too), and I'm not much better with emotions. But I would also tell this boy that he doesn't make it easy, when he doesn't even see me fumbling with emotions and confused signals and lonely feelings (which I might suffer from way too much, but I can't do much to change that, either, because that's kind of also a girl thing).

And maybe, if I ever found myself in close proximities with a boy, I might just cry, and not know why. And I'm not sure how I'd explain that. It's been awhile since I've cried in front of a boy, and maybe it's something I just need to get out because I'm a girl like that, and we cry. Oh, we cry. And maybe I would try to explain myself in third person and pronouns and nouns and suppositions and maybes, and he might be really confused, or really impatient, and that might make me cry more. Because if I start crying, I might not be able to stop until I tell this boy that for all the outward moodiness, I don't actually tell anyone anything, and it's hard sometimes, because talking might make dealing better but I'm sort of too fragile to start conversations unless someone asks. And maybe he might ask, and I'd tell him that really, none of it matters after all, because we're in close proximity. And maybe girls fix themselves that way, with the lovey-dovey feelings that result.

And maybe he still won't understand, and I guess that might not be his fault, because it might be a girls-are-different-from-boys thing that we just can't quite get past. But maybe I'll have explained myself, at least. And maybe I'll just try again, because these things do take more than twice sometimes. And sometimes, I guess I just need to fall apart, but I can't unless someone catches me first and lets me fall apart in their hands, and just holds the pieces gently until I'm ready to be okay again.

And after everything, before I lost my breath completely, I would probably tell the boy that really, I might be blowing things out of proportion, but talking helps, if he'll just listen and be close to me. Because half an hour to hold hands and maybe kiss, really kiss, the kind of kiss you let yourself slide into and close your eyes for, isn't that much time out of a week. Not when life is composed of so many other things that absorb half an hour of our time but we could probably delay a little or survive without. Not when a kiss, a real kiss, costs so little but is worth so much.

Because I would ask the boy when the last time he really kissed a girl was. And I would ask him if he didn't miss it, maybe a little. And if a short skirt and yummy smelling lotion didn't maybe make him want to kiss a girl just a little tiny bit, because all the girl wanted was a boy to make a point of kissing her. Not even half an hour, but half a minute. Just so that she knows that he wants to kiss her out of something other than habit. (Of course, I know there's so much more than habit there, even in little kisses.) Except by this point, I would be talking too much, and saying too much, and I would probably fall silent and cross my fingers and close my eyes and find a star to make a wish on, because I feel very simple and small and young, lately, and wishing on stars sometimes works.

And I don't know how it would end, if I found myself in a truck with a boy, or holding hands with mittens with a boy, because if you knew the ending, you wouldn't worry so much about the getting there and the in-between. But I do, because I worry about things I don't even need to worry about. I make things up to worry about, I think. That might be a girl thing too. I am definitely a girl, with days like this, all in a row - like ducklings, but not so cute.



...
I saw a few people, today, coming into the store in uniform, or with pins and medals; not just Canadians, but but people who have since moved here, but fought in the war for their home countries. I wanted to thank them all, but could find words to really explain how I felt. But there was a man who stood out, one in uniform with pins and medals and the like - one who's a fairly regular customer, who I've seen before and talked to before. He was standing in line in front of another regular customer, also an elderly gentleman. He was drunk - very, very drunk.

He got to the counter, and he just stood there for a minute, before asking for a pack of cigarettes. He stared at my poppy, and asked if I went to the service earlier in the day; I said I hadn't, since I'd be working, so he turned to the second man and asked if he'd been - the second man said no, but he'd watched a bit on TV. The veteran said it wasn't exactly the same, and the second man agreed. There was silence for a minute, and the veteran began telling us, or trying to, about the band that was playing, and the weather, and the service, and how overwhelming it had been - he wasn't really making sense, but we got the general picture... and then he stopped, suddenly, and his eyes started shining. He was starting to cry, and we had no idea what to do, so we just listened.

He said again how good the band was, and how overwhelming the ceremony had been... and then asked if the second man had ever been in the service, to which the man replied that he had served for 18 months in Britain as a youth, but never fought. The veteran replied, "Good," - though to the fact that he served, or the fact that he never fought, I'm not sure. He paused again, and then said, very slowly and thickly, "I fought. Some days, I'm proud. This morning, I was proud of us." He started to cry, at this point, just the slightest bit, and continued, "Some days, I hate myself, and wish I could forget." He paused, again, for the longest moment, and said, softly... "I can't forget."

And then he paid for his cigarettes, and he left, and the second man and I just looked at each other, a little overwhelmed ourselves... and then he put his items down and asked me to watch them, so that he could make sure the veteran had a ride home, since he was clearly too drunk to drive. It wasn't a sloshy, stumbling kind of drunk... just a... completely drowned, kind of drunk. Like he had been drinking to forget... but couldn't.

So that's why we must never forget - because they can't.

And really, I can't think of the last time I've been so... touched by a person. This man, in his uniform and his medals, stood so upright and looked so... strong... and so weak, at the same time. Like he had carried the world on his shoulders, and now, he was just... broken. And there aren't as many veterans left anymore, and soon, there won't be any... but that's exactly what they did. They carried the world on their shoulders, and I can't even imagine... imagine living through that. And look at the world around is now. Is this really what they fought to save?

More than anything, at this moment, I just hope that he's all right, tonight. That he's not alone.
And that he knows, somehow, that we owe him the world.
And that I am so thankful, and will never forget. The war... or him, the look in his eyes. Or even the man behind him, who shared that moment with me, who served but never fought.

And poppies grow in Flander's Field.
<3


Edit: I told my mom the story, and she told me one of her own: a man came in with medals, who said he'd served in Bosnia. She told him that he was a brave soul, and he just looked at her, teary-eyed, and shook his head and whispered, "Not really. We tried to hide." That story broke my heart, too, and my mom's.



Sexy, baby.
Time: 8.05 pm Pacific, 11.05 pm Eastern.

Current standings in the US Senate: 46 seats GOP, 47 seats DEM.
Current standings in US House: 133 GOP, 154 DEM.
Current Governors: 15 GOP, 25 DEM.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaah, baby.

You know what else is sexy? Aerobics striptease. It's how I'm passing time while waiting for election results, dancing for an invisible audience. (Though by audience, I really mean, not much of an audience at all. A one-person audience. Or five**. =P) Though I don't know if I ever really classify striptease as a form of dance, whether it's officially considered such or not. It's a workout, and it's amazingly fun, and incredibly, incredibly self-empowering, not to mention hot... but I guess you do perform to music, and there is a beat, and such. So dancing it is.

Time: 8.32 pm Pacific, 11.32 pm Eastern.

Current standings in the US Senate: 46 seats GOP, 48 seats DEM.
Current standings in US House: 142 GOP, 178 DEM.
Current Governors: 16 GOP, 27 DEM.

Hell-freaking-yeah.

I really, really, really need to be working on my papers, though. The Baptism of Charlemagne, and Feminism in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.

... oh, feminism. Argh. Feminism which I can't really make my mind up on, come some days, I say I'm a feminist, and some days, I don't. Some days I'll swear against it, even... and then some days, I get so irked by people or things that just set me off, and... I'm not sure where I stand. I'm in NO way a feminazi, and I really, really dislike them. They're misguided. I, however - I'm a very, very independent, sexually liberated, self-empowered female who still expects boys to open doors for her, because that's romance. Some people say you can't have it both ways, but I think you can; I think romance is something seperate, and that by no means says I'd never expect the girl to pay for dinner, for example, or make romantic gestures of her own... I just still expect a boy to pull out chairs, when the situation's right. Women can be treated equally and respected equally in the workplace, in politics, in society, and still be treated like something special on a date.

And yes, I'm aware the women are on far more equal grounds now than they've ever been before, but they *still* don't make the same amount of money that men do in the office - and they're still chased by cat calls when they walk down the street. The latter is a particularly dangerous subject for me; it results in feelings of violence. Women in authority positions are questioned about their capabilities based on motherhood or hormones. It's all ridiculous.

And then, on the other hand, there's me, who's secret back-up plan has always been to be a stay-at-home mom, who cooks and cleans and folds laundry and sends her kids off to school with lunches and kisses on the cheek. I love the chaos of a full house. I complain about it, but I love it. I love babies, and kids, and noisy dinners and water fights in the backyard, and sledding and hayrides and pumpkin patches, and christmas trees and cartoons... and everything. And I would be so satisfied with that role. But that doesn't mean I can't still hate the fact that other women still don't have entirely equal rights nor standings. I don't have to want them myself to despise the unequality. No, that's not actually my argument against feminism. My argument against states that men and women, being fundamentally different, will always be treated fundamentally different, and if it came down to choosing between equality in the workplace and old-fashioned romance and respect from men, I would probably choose the latter. I just don't see it as having to be a choice. And since there isn't much old-fashioned romance left anyhow...

Damnit. The Senate is tied, 48 seats each.

Well, since I've got my thoughts flowing in the feminism direction, I guess I should start the paper, eh? Today's been such a random day... almost passed out for basically no reason what-so-ever. Yay, health.

Oh well. Off I go. Maybe I'll burn of this steam with some more striptease. Or... by eating chocolate.

Steph.

** - we spent the day discussing our "Five Celebrity People We'd Sleep With" lists, yesterday. (Pierce Brosnan, Antonio Banderas, Francesco Totti, Colin Farrell, Ewan McGregor - though he's sort of undecided. I love him, but I dunno if he screams "sex" to me.)



Freaking. goddamn. cute.