the phone rings and I stop breathing

I have been up since 8am baking. I couldn't think of a better way to displace my anxiety.

Last night I went to bed early, tired and worried. I left my cell phone on and by the bed in case Edward or Joan called from the hospital. The phone woke me up twice, my heart pounding. Imagine my surprise and relief and irritation when I saw the caller ID. I didn't answer the phone, because I was too irate. I checked the messages later to stop the beeping so I could go to sleep. While I'm sure my friends had good intentions, who the hell calls at 11:30pm and 1am when I'm worried about a family member in the hospital? I was supremely peeved last night, but I've gotten over it.

When I was growing up, I remember a set of rules about when to use the phone. No calling before 9-10am on weekdays, much later on Sundays. No calling after 9pm, and certainly not after 10pm. I wonder if that was just my family or a secret code of the neighborhood. These days when my phone rings in the middle of the night, my first thought is always that something terrible has happened.

Mostly I was worried the phone would wake Alan. He hasn't been sleeping well at all in the past three days, getting only a couple hours a night. I realize it's been a little sketchy over the past year or so working at Flood because of the shift differences. Perhaps the universal telephone laws are not universal.

Edward said he would call a little later on. I think I will keep making pie, maybe clean for the hell of it.

And now a poll to satisfy my curiousity on the issue.

[Poll #338990]

memory and dream

We wait, and we wait. No news yet. It's the worst part because I can't do anything over than stare at my gym bag and think about how many shirts to pack.

The Food Network makes me hungry. My ancestors, the Comanche, were some of the first people to make chili it seems. Interesting.

I'm reading Charles de Lint's Memory & Dream again for the first time in many years. The note in the front says I bought it in Febuary 1995. It's my favorite of all his works, and the one that spoke most powerfully to me. I've read a lot of what's termed "urban fantasy" over the years but I keep coming back to this one.

I suppose because I would like to write a book just like it. It's what I want to do with Anna.

Anyhow. I finished my chocolate strawberry pie, and I glazed the top with melted strawberry jam in abstract swirls. It looks pretty good. The chocolate came out with a smoky, coffee sort of flavor. I hope the shortbread crust is a good match.

I just answered the door and forgot I wasn't wearing a shirt. The mailman must think I'm crazy.

(no subject)

Damn it. I just sliced my thumb open and bled all over the place. Copious amounts of blood, and a cut that will probably scar. My thumbprint will definitely be different. Damn damn damn.

We're out of bandaids, so I have a napkin taped to my thumb. Typing is hard like this. Fuck. I've never had a cut hurt so much. Stupid cardboard box. I hate the box.

On the bright side, Alan's sword arrived and it's pretty fabulous. It would have been cooler if I cut myself on the blade instead of the stupid damn box. I have never seen a box covered in so much packing tape. It was very secure.

(no subject)

In light of the results of my poll, I have determined new phone rules for my life. I will only answer my phone between the hours of 9am-10pm weekdays, and 10am-11pm weekends. I reserve the right to not answer my phone at all. If someone calls any later or earlier, it had damn well better be an emergency. Otherwise, there will be pain.

I have a real bandaid now, which makes typing so much easier. However, venturing into Walmart is like delving into the seventh level of hell. The crowds of random suburbanites, yokels, trailer trash, giant ethnic families, screaming children, people using their carts as rams, obnoxious thugs and all other stripes of humanity looking for cheap goods. It drains my soul to go in there.

We ate dinner at Lubys with all the other older folks. Mmm fried fish and macaroni & cheese.

(no subject)

The story of the Iraqi soccer team is the most awesome thing of the entire 2004 Olympics. What a bizarre thing. Uday Hussein tortured players who displeased him, and they had little money or equipment. No one expected them to make it, and when they got to Athens thanks to Australia they weren't supposed to win. But now they have a shot at a medal. With all the horrible, fucked up things in Iraq, it's amazing to see some things change for the better.