Christmas in Suburbia

People say that suburbia has no personality. Every Christmas, the neighborhoods light up. You can see the family that hates their relatives and puts up no lights. The over-achievers with a scene set to rhythmic holiday music. The family that recently had their kids go off to college and have only put up an obligatory light display. Their next door neighbor forgot and only put up a wreath. And then my house. Each window pane tells a story. Mine has snowflakes, the downstairs have small candles in the window. But to me, i think that with the hodge-podge group of people, Something is better than nothing.

But a Life

My life is not an apology, but a life. My life is my own, to do with what I will. My failures are wholly mine, and I revel in them, because through them, my successes are sweeter and still mine. My lacks and fortes, I embrace with the fullness of spirit my body holds. That electric body of which Whitman wrote. I am my own captain whose river of time is connected with those around me. I am the Nile, all avenues feeding me and me feeding the warm sea of death.



My life is not an apology, but a life. I will not struggle to become the image of my parents, nor their antithesis. I am the synapsis of which Hegel spoke. My children will be my struggle. I do not apologize for my modesty nor for my wantonness; not my prudence or my indulgences. My life is wholly my own, and I’ll ruin it if I will.



My life is not an apology but a life. I am not the quiet muse of centuries past nor the post-modern working woman. I am myself, and pretend to nothing. I am my own mirror as my personality changes daily. I hold with no past self, no seeming perfect future. I accept my imperfections and embrace my idiosyncrasies. I am a reflection of my parents and family but unique.



My life is not an apology, but a life. I will not beg of those around me for acceptance, I understand myself and need no other comprehension. I trust myself; that irons string on the harp of God, I sing clear. I sing with the happiness of a swan in polluted water, clearly but worriedly.



My life is not an apology but a life. My misgivings and uncertainties define me as a person, small and vulnerable. I am no titan to eat my children for fear of usurpation, nor a brute to demand acquiescence in every argument. My illogic and melodrama are as endearing as frustrating.



My life is not an apology but a life. Though others discourage me, I am hated by those who hate themselves. They have no power over me, they cannot destroy me. I have been told wrong too many times to believe that three-fourths is less than two-thirds. I have been told to be quiet too often to make my less talkative. You who are believed to own me will me a Gertrude to your King Hamlet, malleable but unforgiving. I am no Gwenivere to fall prey to Lancelot. I know my heart and my honor is more than it.



My life is not an apology, but a life. I live my life withal the hope and fatalism of myself. I am myself and no other. I will live, relying on myself to be convinced that life is worth fighting them. Life would not be worth it, if I did not fight. My life will always be a life, not an apology.

Waste of a Great Hair Day

You know those days where it starts out sunny, you take a shower and skip the conditioner and the blow dryer and say, it's alright it can get curly/wavy today, I’m going to have it in a bun for work anyway. Then your ex-girlfriend calls and says she and her new boy are coming over and you think (YAY!) I get to meet him, a person who's making S**** happy. Then you get a call, and she says the girlfriend after you who also happens to be his ex is coming too. Then you find out that both girlfriend-after-you and the new boy are stoner/pot-head skippers on the verge of being expelled, then you tell them you have work soon (which is kinda a lie, you have work in and hour) so you sit and read and go to work and work's okay and then you get out at midnight and roll down the windows and your hair- the one you didn't do anything with this morning- is perfect that nicely volumized but no where near the 80s, straight with just the hint of a wave at the bottom and you think “you picked today?” Your hair picked the day it got covered by a hat, put in a bun, dyed 4 days ago, and steamed with hot water and milk ALL DAY to be perfect? What a WASTE of a GREAT hair day.

Tirza and Will Visit

Tirza and I had lots of fun, I bought a little coyote and a wolf stuff animals they're so cute. then we ate at the cafe at the NMAI. the exhibit that I was hoping for wasn't there, instead was new Seneca stuff, which while cool, weren't neither the amazing jewelry work nor the driftwood mosaics nor the granite sculptures and oil paintings I was hoping for. So, minor disappointment. The cafe was good, if expensive, definitely a tourist trap though it had an interesting theme- food from each of the different regions of Native Americans. Then we went to the Phillips collection which was awesome (3 VanGoghs!) which basically made my day. Then we hung out at DuPont circle and went into the HRC store where I got my beanie (finally) and a HRC mug YAY... and a job offer, which was greatly amusing, seeing as I TOTALLY support the cause, I might actually think about it in the fall (easily accessible by metro). Then we went to crystal city and picked up Will, Tirza's hubby, and went home. Then ate sushi at the BEST sushi place in the world, Burke Fortune House (yes, they know my name) and we wandered around Walmart looking for a plain black shirt, to no avail BUT we did find The Craft for $5.50 which is awesome, so I got it.