I looked after Stephanie's baby for her while she went out to bingo with my sister and Michelle. Rayanna is almost 18 months, and with all the charm one expects from a baby, and those extras one could do without: a bladder, a set of bowels, and a strong pair of lungs. She was a sweet kid, though, and I managed to get her fed, clean and in bed by the time her mom came home.
The little baby made me think. It's weird: leave yourself in small apartment with a strange chubby, pink creature incapable of expressing coherent thoughts, and your mind flies. I'd always been so quick to avoid children, always thought I was so horrible with them, always been so sure that I would never reproduce or raise one of my own. But this little thing is so fragile and helpless, and it needs you to look after it... I don't know, a part of me I didn't know I possessed fired up and suddenly I was patient, maternal, caring. I suppose it's a common, natural occurence with women, to discover a maternal instinct left dorment for so long, but it was amazing all the same. I was compelled to work so hard to keep this little thing happy, that I didn't even notice until I sat down and had a drink.
Whether I should be comforted by this or more alarmed than ever, I don't know. I can't say if my position on having kids has really changed. I don't think I could put my whole life into raising someone else. 'Slowing down' wouldn't be pleasent. And since I have the same inner conflict when I consider marriage in my future, I don't know if I'd ever be that comfortable in a family. It's a lot to worry about, especially for a 15-year-old with no boyfriend.
Tyler came by with drinks, and I was invited to spend the night at Steph's with them, but I felt really young, and I had been hoping to go home and wash the smell of the baby off of me. I made a mental note to spend more time with these people, though, because I like them so much more than the manipulative bitches that (sometimes) call me friend.
Slaughterhouse Five is nearing its end, and I can't keep it to myself. Evan went out and bought it yesterday, under my recommendation. It's going to be the first thing he's read in what? Three years? It seemed to be his kind of book, though, and I'm going to assume that the reason I haven't heard from him since is that he's hooked.
The bulb over the sink in the kitchen in flickering, and I can hear what I believe is the sump pump working in the basement. The breeze is crawling in through the windows. The dishwasher is in its second rinse cycle: this is perhaps the most hypnotic sound I've ever encountered. As any piece of machinery tends to do, it makes a sort of throb as it works, and the water sloshes around steadily, resembling the sound heard from the side of a large boat or ship. I'm in that sort of dozy, poetic mood. Damn that baby and her infantile charms.
I miss my guitar so badly that I dreamt about it for a short while as I was waiting for the baby to fall asleep. Then I dreamt of a game show of which I was the prize. It was creepy, but at the same time, I think I managed to untangle a few knots about the men in my life. Conscious, I am romantically retarded. Unconcious, I unravel mysteries and explore the inner workings of my own heart, and when I awake, it strikes me like an epiphany - "Eureka!" - and who loves me and who I love and every 'why' and 'how' beneath the matter is clear before my newly-rested eyes. Then within hours I manage to sink back into a low gear, denying the very existance of love. Rinse, repeat.
I vow to flirt shamelessly with my boy, and I will not let the month pass without asking him out. Life is only so long, really, and I'd really like to waste a little of it with him, just him, if he'll agree to do the same with just me.
I'm working on a picture of activists, and I'm considering using my 16"(18"? 20"? It's big, in any case) canvas for it. Hm.
-Manda
I'm searching for a change of pace
Trying to pull away all these names
Tell you how it all works out
I'm terrible on the phone
It's better when it's us, all alone
Tell you how it all works out
You're not the only one
And I'm not your only fun
I like the sounds you make when we're shaking
You like to lose control and I take it
I turn the music up, so it drowns us out
I scatter when the morning comes
Shattered over what I've just done
Tell me if it all works out
You're not the only one
And I'm not your only fun
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