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[Thu/Jan/2019 at 9:13pm] |
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mood |
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 happy |
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music |
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thank you for the music - abba |
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Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty? What would life be? Without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it to ( me. ) |
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[Sun/Jun/2009 at 9:00pm] |
I just saw my first firefly of the year. I didn't even realize they came this far into the city, but they apparently do. I love the summer.
PRIVATE:
I am overreacting in three... two...
He said we needed to talk and set up a date. A date. About what? A real date? Or just a date to talk? And what do we need to talk about? What do you wear to a date where you're talking? Do I wear my cutest summer dress, or do I wear jeans or do I wear a business suit. Is he secretly a music producer? My mother will never let me sign. I don't care that I'm old enough to make those decisions, she won't let me. And she's getting sick again, losing weight from the chemo or whatever. I can't leave her now, no matter what. I don't need the money to make her more comfortable or anything. I won't ever lie and pretend we don't come from it. Her family would never let her die brokety. Does brokety rhyme with cannoli? Hmm. No. Not really. Anyway. What on earth could that guy want to talk to me about? And... why call it a date if it's not a date? I never understood that. I'll wear a dress. A ... professional looking dress. And I won't tell mother. Just in case.
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[Sun/May/2009 at 5:09am] |
My God, I am not happy to be home. I've spent the past few weeks in Italy, on my family vineyard. I did nothing but sleep in, taste wine at various stages or the aging process, and just... enjoyed myself. My sister wasn't there, but then again - Connie never comes. The family has kind of... well, they disowned her. Then they tried to reown her, but she got all high and mighty about it. What did she expect?
It's not like we're left wing liberals. We're old Italian Catholics. We don't like lesbians. I mean, I love my sister and I've met a few of her girlfriends, and you know. They're nice and all. We have fun together, the three of us and stuff. But that doesn't mean my family suddenly doesn't think homosexuality is not a big fat sin. They're trying, though, God bless them. Well. Most of them are. If she'd just let it go a little bit. Try to compromise the same way they are? She can't help it that our mother is...
...Well, our mother is sick. I mean, you can't totally blame her. If you had cancer, then you'd probably be a little more cranky than normal, too. I don't know. She seems to be doing well, but she says the doctors have still only given her a year left to live. I don't know what to make of it. It seems like she'd had only a year left for about five years, but medical advancements keep on, well, advancing. I don't ever go in to the doctor offices with her, she wants her privacy with them, I guess. She doesn't want me to see her cry or something? But I take her to all her appointments. Since she won't talk to Connie anymore and Connie won't talk to her, I can't very well let my mother take a cab to the doctor, can I?
Anyway. I have to go to work. I don't want to go to work, but I promised Sal's wife that I'd help with the pasta. We make it, you know? Pasta by hand is a bitch. Does anyone know what time five in the morning is? I do. I don't want to. But I do. I'll go for three hours, make pasta, change clothes and go to Mass smelling like oregano, and then come back to work. No rest for the weary. Maybe, if I don't snore, I can sneak a few Zs during the benediction or something. Oh. But. Pictures of Italy to come.
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