Gardener (7/31)

My Dog (6/31)

My dog lies on the couch, snuggling the green fuzzy blanket on the couch that is bathed in sunlight. He loss that blanket. When he isn't begging me to play fetch with him, he's sleeping on the couch. Right now, he's sad because he got bored when I was ignoring him. When he gets bored, he growls. If I'm doing homework and don't want to touch his gross chew toys, he sits next to and growls until he gets depressed and leaves to go sleep on the couch. When I go to take his picture, he pointedly ignores me  until I leave and he repositions himself and groans. Silly dog.

Water (5/31)

I love the ocean. Its rhythm and the sound of its waves seem to comfort me, and I love the complexity and colors of the water as they swirl and turn. I've never felt uncomfortable on the water, or near it, even though I have had one near death experience in a pool when I was four or five.

I was swimming in a pool, sitting on a large inflatable whale, when it started to tip over. It was slow at first, and then fast as my weight flipped it over. I fell into the water, sinking down as the whale bobbed away on the surface of the pool two feet above me. I continued to sink, scared. I couldn't breathe, andI was sinking towards the bottom of the pool. I could still see the light and patterns on the surface of the pool. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mom swimming down towards me, and she scooped me up to the surface in no time, crying. 

I'm still not scared of water. I really don't know why. 

Boning (4/31)

My most recent project is an elizabethan era corset. It is period accurate, and is also a pretty major undertaking. I have been waiting a long time for my 275 yards of reed boning to arrive so that I can finish my project. I get home after an  hour and a half of math homework and See a very large, surprisingly flat box lying on the table. I tear it open. Inside is my boning, tied up in blue ribbon. I finish my homework, and then retrieve my boning to continue working.

I begin to cut lengths to fit into the channels I have sewn into the back panels. I am halfway through the boning process, when I get distracted and the scissors snip through the skin in between my middle and ring fingers on my left hand. 

Fear Nonexistant: 2/31

I'm asleep. The pillow is hot, the dog is hot, my comforter is hot and my body pillow is on the floor next to my bed. It's three oh six, too early to reasonably get up. My breath is heavy, curling over my lips in rolls of viscous sleepiness. It's too early to get up, to hard to go back to sleep. I've been dreaming. I've had the same dream every night for the last few weeks. I'm inside a tiny house, a cottage or hut, with a thatched roof and white washed wattle and daub walls. There are a few windows that open outward into a garden full of beautiful green plants, and the sun falls through leaves of aspens that aren't there, and yet are. I'm with another person, but I don't know who, and I have to get out.

All of a sudden it is dark, full night, without ever having a dusk to make it dark. Outside the window of the happy little cottage there is a dog, standing, grey and shaggy, almost cartoonish in it's appearance. There is no fear in the dog, but around the dog, and I sweat, terrified. I run around the inside of the house, opening all the windows, closing them again when I see it. I am aware that I am dreaming, but I cannot get out, I cannot wake up.

And then Moritz is licking my arm, long slow licks, hot and sticky, as if someone is pulling a magnetically attracted piece of lukewarm ham along my arm. I shudder and wake up.

I have been watching glee for hours. I am huddled under a blanket, crying a little bit over a dispute between Kurt and Blaine. I feel like a bum, but I'm also having a great time. My emotional disputes with the television are lengthy. I keep watching until it's half past midnight, and I have three more episodes until the end. With trepidation, I go to bed and wake up, snuggling a hairy mammal whose name is Moritz. I get up, and watch more glee. I finish the season, and turn to live tv. The Television is turned to PBS, and Don Matteo is on. Don Matteo is an Italian soap opera. It's hilarious, and I watch on, unashamed.

Having a good day? I am too.

I'm watching project runway with my mom and doing research about how to make crayon lipstick. When the episode ends, I go upstairs to the kitchen, and grab a jar and start some water boiling. I chop a crayon into small pieces, and put some oil into it. I plop the crayon pieces into it and put the jar into the boiling water.  I stir it, and wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. Smoke starts to curl out of the jar. I pull it out of the water. i empty out the jar and put another crayon and some more oil in it. This one melts in about ten seconds. I pour the mixture into an empty contact case. I pick up the jar to clean it out, and the bottom of the jar falls off, slicing my middle finger deeply as it falls to the paper towel on the counter. Grr. I try to put on the lipstick after it cools for a while. My finger is bleeding through the bandaid. The lipstick is glorified lip balm that just happens to be green. I get out the tweezers, determined to get the splinter out from underneath my thumbnail. This is a time I agree with Jungian psychology. The wings of Icharus are burning.