I’m so grateful to still be on the Timothy Greenfield-Sanders fame machine. This kind of publicity is priceless, especially for someone who hasn’t done anything for the past two years, or anything really worth anything for that matter, certainly not anything like the other faces and names on that wall.
I’m just popping in for a quick update. It’s been such a hectic year for me so far, and I hardly have the time to fool around.
I had to terminate an employee today. It was a difficult decision, one that I took a lot of time making. It’s not the first time I’ve had to fire someone. The first time I had to do it, the guy really really deserved it, coming in very late first day of work. It was easy. I had no remorse. This time it’s someone I employed for a year.
I felt powerful, so in control of my life and the people who become an extension of mine during certain hours of the day, but part of me felt sad too. It was like losing an appendage, one that has grown more burdensome than useful. Like a hump on my back that may be balancing the weight of my boobs, but is still an unsightly and abnormal bump. Okay, that’s a weird analogy. Whatever, I’m tired. It’s two in the morning. I’m going to bed.
Good night! Sweet dreams! Likely I’ll kill you in the morning.
I’m pausing from knitting to let you know what this red scarf means to me. It’s everything you’ve ever brought me that’s helped me grow, all bundled up in the knots of the yarn, all the delightfully naughty dirty little nothings you brought into my world swept into the tiny holes between the threads. While I knit I think about what we’ve been through together. I find little moments around me and capture memories of kisses and laughter and love into the loops of the knit. It’s all in this red scarf to keep you warm when it’s cold outside.
When I was 19, I met this boy who was 15 at the time. I was his family’s guest on a university student exchange program. He let me have his bedroom while I was a guest in their home. Early every morning he would sneak into his room fresh out of a shower wearing only a towel around his waist, getting some clothes out of his closet. I pretended to be asleep every time. I don’t know why he didn’t just get a pile of clothes for the whole week and stash them somewhere in the den where he slept. I enjoyed those clandestine visits, however, and did nothing to make him aware that I knew. I watched him pull pants on underneath his towel each morning, back muscles gleaming from steam, watched him pull a fresh shirt over his lean muscled shoulders, shake his wet hair through the neck hole. After he left for school, I nuzzled into his bed and played with myself, imagining my body wrapped around his.
My kid’s got a cold since Christmas. All the cookies and candy cane have taken its toll: lowered immunity against other snot-nosed kids at the parties we attended. My tits are so sore. My little monkey nurses a lot more when under the weather. When the nose gets clogged, the jaws clench down tight with my nipple squeezed in between them. Many nights I cry out loud in pain, trying not to flinch or pull away, just gently pushing a thumb between teeth to loosen its grip on my tender tits.
I’ve been so swamped since 2007 began. Business, Mom stuff, a pile of requests for autographed photos… Jay got me knitting supplies and some knitting books for Christmas, so I’ve been learning how to knit whenever I have time. I want to make him a scarf, but I’ve already discarded three ratty rags I knitted and turned them into doll blankets instead. This one I’ve started is shaping up well and I’m hoping to get this done before spring. Jeez!
Cold as a witch’s teat. Ever heard that expression? I would think a witch’s teat would be warm, sitting up there by a vat of bubbling magic soup. Maybe a witch’s teats get cold when she’s flying around on her broomstick on a night just like this one. It’s so clear and cold out. I wish we were somewhere that snows. Our barren plum tree looks strange next to a lush bougainvilla.
