Writing From The Gut

This may read odd, but that's never stopped me before.

Last night, the voices in my head kept me awake.

Now, when I write "voices in my head", I don't mean that I've literally heard or imagine to hear real voices. I'll admit that I'm sometimes nuts but geez, I'm not crazy. I mean the various lists ... with titles like "to do" and "should do" and "will do" and "yeah, we'll see if I do" and "bwahahaha - fat chance that I'll do" and "I'm just clearly nevvvvver gonna do".

I started mentally thumbing through these lists early in the evening and, sensing that I'd be thinking myself sleepless, I loaded a nameless romantic comedy DVD on the player (starring any combo of Julia Roberts, Hugh Grant, Meg Ryan, Richard Gere, Sandra Bullock, and/or Tom Hanks) and tried my best to put down the imaginary pencil that was editing, erasing, adding, and underlining various entries I had.

But there's always one, isn't there?

There was one entry that just wouldn't be adjusted, moved, or otherwise touched. "You've been pretty good about writing, both in your 'blob'" (which is how I refer to this ... this ... uhhhh well whatever THIS is) "and in your personal journal. You probably owe it to yourself to try to do a wrap up sort of thing in both, to tie up the year."

"Sure," I mused with me. "Sure, I can scribble out a few funny little paragraphs that encapsulate the past 365 days. No sweat - because heck it's not like anything life-changing happened to me in 2009. It's not like I continued to fight through hell, quite literally, for my health. It's not like I changed careers into an as-yet undefined position in an as-yet unknown corporation. It's not like I voluntarily moved my entire existence to totally unfamiliar territory. It's not like, after 41 years of chancing my heart with various undeserving cheaters, liars, and slime balls, it's not like I finally found the man who is the love of my life and who will be, if I indeed AM the luckiest son of a bitch on this planet, the last person I see for the rest of my nights and the first I see for the rest of my mornings. I can write that all out in something short and meaningful - no problem. How about 'Here's to 2010 - change, schmange ... give me your best shot!'"

So it's safe to say that (1) I got pretty much NO sleep last night and (b) I am, thus far, undecided on the whole "2009 wrap up" post here. Having just glanced at last years Dec 31 entry, I see I offered a toast, in which I wished that 2009 have characteristics typically associated with a raspberry shortbread tart. I dunno if I should refer to a cookbook for inspiration for a potential blob post, as it seems to me that could possibly invite flavors like "bitter" and "spicy" ... and those may be undesired.

On the other hand, as it turns out, I really, really, really enjoyed the raspberry shortbread tart.

How Santa Will Know Where I Am

Maybe he'll recognize that I've moved homes because of the new decorations and the phrases written on them, placed above ornaments I've had for a few years.








Maybe he'll remember my ol' pal, Woody, who has been with me for more than three decades.






Or my sleeping mouse, dreaming of Santa's visit ...






Or my chorus mouse angel, waiting to play her horn ...





Damn. I wish I could be sure, 'tho.










If only there were SOME way I could make sure Santa would know where I was ...

A Visit By St. Nick

The Awesome Boyfriend came over last night and we were in the process of getting dinner together when the sirens began. They were loud - and sounded close. My first thought was what I typically think when I hear sirens - "awwwww damn. Someone's day just got crappy." The Awesome Boyfriend waited for a second, and then bolted to the front door, saying "Come over here, Hunny - it's Santa!"

I can't remember Santa ever visiting my sister and I at home when we were growing up, 'tho there's a photo of this happening once. I've been told that I was in awe of our great luck, to have such a visit (and to have him deliver, in person, my most-desired gift ... a box turtle!) right up until my sister turned to my parents and asked "Why is Mr. Gundy dressed as Santa Claus?"

In my new home town, however, it seems it is a tradition for Santa to be escorted by Firefighters around different neighborhoods in the evenings as Christmas approaches. Santa sits on the back of a long firetruck decorated with lights as the sirens wail, and he waves to the homes he'll visit in a week or so.

We caught the last of the processional as it passed directly in front of my home, and walked back to the kitchen to finish arranging our plates. The sirens were still very near by and then, as I looked out the kitchen window, I saw the flashing emergency lights in the apartment complex behind my backyard. I raised the shade as high as it would go while The Awesome Boyfriend turned out the kitchen lights and stood directly behind me, holding me ... and we stood, in silence, while Santa was driven by as he greeted children and adults, who had gathered to watch and wave back.

After dinner, we adjusted the lights I'd placed earlier, and started decorating, being guided by the lights from the tree. We'll probably be decorating for the next few days, in fits and spurts, until we're both satisfied with our work. On our tree. Our first Christmas Tree.

See? Once again, Santa already delivered what I wanted the most.