da pain. da pain... ow.
still reeling from migraine; I suppose the past few days have been too "spiky" (adrenaline-wise) for the poor beast to calm the hell down. so: da pain, da pain...
and oh-fuck-it's-the-21st. I just realized this. maybe it's good I'm focused on my headache. although for the second pre-session in a row, I have this, "but I don't *wanna* go to therapy! Mommy, I don't wanna!" going on... really, the doctor's lovely (lately), but what does a girl with a migraine want other than nice comfy sleep in a nice quiet cave?
and did you know that Friday - when my mom was sweet enough to come home bearing Coke and chocolate - she presented it to me without saying, "Eat this. It helps"? I did my best to cover by eating and saying, "it helps; it really helps," but I'm still not quite over the shock of that slip-up... I'm also not over the fact that I have yet to see the movie a third time. or how long it's been since I saw it last. I *never* do this with movies; I have to be dragged out of my apartment to see them (or had to for some time)... but this movie is just different. it just is. and so yesterday when we drove by the massive inflatable Harry-glasses-with-tape, and I pointed them out to my dad and grandma, resulting in "have you seen it yet?", resulting in "only twice", which they did not take correctly (no *really* that's not enough... I'm not ok with the fact that I don'town the dvd yet) - I pulled on Heather's much more proper viewing techniques, which make me look slightly less fanatic, (not the point), and make it clear to family members that two viewings of the third movie is far, far from 'enough.'
at the moment, my main (Harry-related) problem is that I can't get to a theater on my own, and my mom has become interested in a few other movies. movies I'm interested in also, but how does one go see something *other* than Harry Potter? even if it *is* "Saved" which looks like a frightful joke at the expense of N*land, simultaneously painful to relive and tres amusing, not to mention starring Jena Malone (aka Ellen Foster, and therefore forever beloved)... and for which, much to my delight, I am hearing only good reviews. for instance, last night when I was talking with Jennifer (thought I'd just drop that in here... I feel a bit like Henrietta Pussycat: meow, meow, PHONE, meow, meow. meow, JENNIFER, meow. hmm...I'm having a strong urge to write all entries from now on as Henrietta Pussycat. do you think my beloved Daniel Striped Tiger would mind? meow, meow, DANIEL, meow...) [blame the migraine. just BLAME THE MIGRAINE. it's one of the few perks of being plagued] she mentioned having seen it, and having liked all but the end. squee. I just hope I'll be able to laugh at the absurd resemblance to life at my "public high school" (where the superintendent gave commencement speeches discussing God and letters he'd received from Heaven, where the musical cast gathered in a prayer circle before performing *Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat*... etc) rather than re-experiencing the trauma. it's over. for me. I escaped. I escaped many a year ago.
and yesterday, my dad was talking to me about a restaurant in N*land (which by the way is a HUGE national chain and has restaurants all over the freaking area), and I wanted to explain to him that... I haven't returned to N*land to visit my friends. I haven't returned to N*land to look in on my home of 14 years. I haven't returned to N*land to visit my friends. (Did I mention that?) and if I haven't returned to N*land to spend time with truly wonderful people, pigs can fly, snowballs can thrive in hell, and I will *still* avoid the 'city' limits of that wee metropolis. oy. he already knows this. he was just intent, as usual, on giving me all sorts of reasons to come visit him. and as usual, those reasons centered mainly on the fact that there would be food, and I could eat it.
(having figuratively rolled my eyes - literally, they rolled back into my head several minutese ago - I *will* admit without shame that the Krispy Kremes rocked. I did my part to fuck the carb-counting-craze; oh, yes. it is a good, good thing when eating the world's yummiest donuts is also a political statement. although in general, I'm really ready for the fucking-Atkin's-insanity to morph into something else. I'd like to see Vitamin C attacked. or perhaps vegetables. just some variety, you know. I can only point out to so many people that Dr. Atkins is dead, quite probably from his own food plan, before the words start to lose meaning. Meow meow... oh. wait, sorry. I'm really trying not to do that.)
so father's day, a.k.a. Hucklebuck: The Anniversary. oy. it was just before Father's Day last year that my mom informed each of my siblings, and me, that she and Bake^ were divorcing. I remembered this several days ago, but didn't really *feel* it until Saturday, which is when she got off the phone with my oldest brother and said, "I'm really glad all my kids still like me," to which I, ever oblivious, replied, "Um... duh?" (or something to that effect.) [note to FG: jeezus, Heather, I swear you opened a floodgate or something. I haven't said these things in years.] she then added, "there was a time... about a year ago... when I wondered," at which point my inner monologue became... not exactly more coherent... but definitely less PG. I said, "so... that whole year thing... seeing as it's been a year" (and you told me that legally it has to happen within one year of the initial filing) "has it...happened...yet?" which of course made her *sit down* and get *all serious* to tell me that, yes, it's happened. my parent's "impending divorce" is now my parent's "divorce"... "my parent's divorced" replaces "my parent's are divorcing." the weird thing right now is thinking about "when it happened." does it make sense to say recently? when they've been separated for over a year? does it make sense to say a year ago, when it's only just now... done?
and my dad, with his wallet, and the photo he has to show me, and when showing me he has to say, "my bride." my dad, whom I really do love, and really did enjoy lounging around with... We didn't do much of anything. grabbed lunch, grabbed donuts, watched the baseball game, visited with grandma and great-aunt, drove back. the 'great-aunt' of that litany has just gotten out of the hospital, and I was about to finally burst into my "WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THIS?" rant when I remembered that I'm the one who was flaking out on returning telephone calls. damn it all. but when my great-aunt, who means ever so much to me, is in the hospital for three freaking days, and things don't look good, and people are scared, and she's 85... well: I should be informed. at some point, I'll make sure my dad knows this. anyway, it was good to visit with her, and with my grandma, who couldn't get over the fact that I have a tan. ha. I can't get over it either, so, hey... I felt a little bad for her, though, as she kept looking over at me and saying how good I look, and I kept thinking, "Take it in, Nana... next time, I'll probably have blue hair." (oooh! I'll get to attend Sunday theater matinees when I have blue hair! I hate seeing theater during the day, but who cares? how hilarious is it to be 19 and in the "blue-hair" crowd? not as hilarious as it is to be 19, in the blue-hair crowd, having lived in a nursing home, knowing how to crochet, complaining about symptoms all the time, and taking more meds in one swallow than should legally be allowed. I have the experience of a 12-year-old and the life of a 90-year-old. this breeds confusion.)
but Father's Day was ok, even though my brother has been unreachable since Thursday (stupid. phone. making me. worry. stupid. meow) and therefore did not come along to balance the onslaught of family questioning. I got to talk about "what I'm up to" and "whether I'm still writing" and all those good things. Pool. Yes. (respectively.) love bless Shandi, Jason, and Jarrod for visiting. that visit saved my freaking life, so far as anecdotes go. even if it was dangerous territory, once I went so far as to admit that the two friends who'd decided to visit were actually, one rather lovely female friend from high school and her boyfriend, who I'd met once before and like muchly... and the mystery guest I'd expressed such pleasure in seeing was actually a (gasp) BOY. I don't know that this has the same effect on my grandma it once did... (does the fact that I'm 19 and have yet to go on any sort of date get through to her fully? I mean, she's more on top of things than my dad... but I still wonder.) there was definitely a time when mentioning any boy around my grandma (and yes, they were "boys" then) had dreadful consequences. I remember the summer she was all lit up over Sarah and her swing-dancing partner, who was oh-so-very gay. speaking of which, while love is blessing people, love bless Steve, and Sarah for falling in love with him, diluting a great amount of the "find a romance! now!" energy. I want a niece/nephew as much as she wants a great-grandchild; trust me. but no matter what gossip I heard about my classmates (oh, the babies... and the marriages... huh? what? will this ever not be weird?) I can't get over the fact that I have pictures of them as seven-year-olds. and regarding me, well... it's made simple by the fact that generally speaking neither 12-year-olds nor 90-year-olds decide to have children.
I haven't told about Friday's funny session or the fun of the visit... blast it all! blast wanting nothing but sleep and caffeine. grr. but I need to prepare for Monday's [adjective not yet released] session, i.e. hose myself down and find the proper dork chic to sport today. it's gloomy out. perfect day for a movie... if the migraine would get under control and the doctor would be kind and once again say, "[seeing as you have a migraine], this session needs to be really steady and calm and such"... which we did, for awhile. and then we didn't at all. but he'd been lovable all afternoon, so I didn't blame him for it.
of course, if I'd known this damn migraine would last for *days*... I might've... made my mind up a bit differently. at the moment, I'm just insisting there are too many dementors about. my patronus is still a little shaky, (and honestly, I don't know how a duck is supposed to fight off a dementor... just kidding! hunh, like I'd reveal the form of my patronus in an online journal - puh-lease) but I'm armed with chocolate. or rather I'm not. but I will be.
someday, I'll manage to talk about what I plan on talking about... really. also, this is absolutely hilarious beyond description. (it also references what is perhaps my favorite Finding Nemo quote.) and really, it's lovely talking on the phone with her... hand over your digits, people. life is about *relation.*
that and therapy. gotta scoot!
~me
^my dad's nickname. or actually "Dad" is Bake's nickname. that gives you a better idea of how thoroughly it's infiltrated our discussions/ his identity/ and so forth.