10 04 2011

The number of hours in one Terran day.

That one show I can’t watch because they never stop yelling and almost-dying and jumping off of things.

My new approximate age. Really I think it’s more like 24 years, 3 days and 34 minutes as I write this post.

I had a lovely birthday. Probably the best one in years. (Even if Jennifer was not able to swing it so that people at work sang to me.) Instead I got serenaded with my favorite song by my wonderful friends Lynn and Carina. If you’ve never heard Lynn and Carina sing Steve Miller Band’s “Dance Dance Dance” you have not yet lived.

Mom and Dad bought me a gorgeous dress from Anthropologie and my grandparents bought me another fun dress and the happiest green shirt I have ever seen. I went out to lunch with my extended family (except my little bro who got deserted in a lab at Microsoft and so was not able to come). My best friend sang me happy birthday in Dutch, my Jewish mom gave me some gorgeous bracelets and a chocolate and I finished the day eating Cheetos and chatting on facebook.

Aren’t you all glad that my tendency to stretch the bounds of the English language has not been affected by the aging process?

Since my birthday I have spent the majority of my time at work. This has been glorious for two reasons. First, I’m House Managing which is infinitely more entertaining than Lobby Attending and second, two words- tap dancing. For the last two days I’ve been foot-serenaded with tap dancing.


Don’t get me wrong. I’m b.e.a.t. For an introvert to spend most of every day interacting with people is intense, to say the least. I woke up this morning with a pounding headache and the deep desire to cry. Not for any particular reason, at least nothing that can be shared via the internet, but just because I’ve been “on” for three days straight. I’m looking forward to tomorrow because I will be able to go to karate and beat something up. If there’s no beating things up then there will AT LEAST be sweat. And, as we all know “the cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea”.

I’m liking 24 so far. There has been a definite shift in the “Hi I’m Meghan and I’m invisible” trend that I’ve been living with for the last four or five years. I feel a little as though someone has handed me a puppy, a lion, three oranges and a kite and said “juggle these and whistle while you do it”. It’s really a foreign world I’ve fallen into and I’m doing my damnedest to handle it all with grace and without selfishness. (It’s harder than you’d think to be unselfish with other people’s hearts).

24 is going to be fun.


For your amusement: Dreams

4 04 2011

My journal used to be like everyone else’s journal on the planet. It included brief entries regarding important events, hopes, frustrations, wishes and the occasional sketch. Sometime over the last two years it has turned into almost purely a “dream” book. Not a “I want a house where all the walls are floor to ceiling bookshelves” kind of dreams- the kind you get during a good REM cycle.

In the absence of anything extraordinary to report I will copy verbatim some dreams as written down in aforementioned journal. (Can I write a sentence or can I write a sentence?!)  Read the rest of this entry »

45 Keys (short story)

2 04 2011

At the top of a New York apartment building, above the crust and stale despair of a dark and dilapidated neighborhood there is a room. To reach it you must walk up six flights of stairs for the building has no elevator and looks as though it could not sustain the shock if an elevator were to be introduced into its’ decaying superstructure. The stairs are tired and sag to prove it. The walls were papered once but the pattern has faded into a dim memory of itself. Occasionally, if you happen to attempt the climb, you meet rats and mice who greet you in the manner of very small and velvety doormen. Sometimes a particularly bold rat will escort you all the way to the top floor.

There is a landing above the uppermost step, but no hallway. The other floors have hallways but even passages cannot be bothered with sixth floor walk-ups. Instead you get a landing and a green door with a tarnished placard that reads only “Mr Sharpe”.

The tenant’s name is not, it may be observed, Mr Sharpe.  Read the rest of this entry »