Nightmares. Cat hair. In my chair.
I’m comfortable, but I’m not relaxed. I don’t feel like I can relax until after I’ve lint brushed myself. Is that insane?
It’s partly because every time I look down, there it is, all over the front of me. I need a new dryer. I need those new pet hair dryer sheets. But I’m not supposed to use them. My skin is too sensitive.
I think the fairer your skin, the more sensitive you tend to be. The kid is fair, and he has all the same issues as I do.
Light eyes, too, might be more sensitive to the sun, though if you want to get technical, my eyes are dark blue. Well, maybe gray blue. Desmond’s are dark blue. So beautiful.
He’s going to be a lady killer with those eyes and that curly hair. He doesn’t want to hear it, right now, though. Still doesn’t like girls.
Aislyn is going to be a boy magnet. She is so pretty. I try not to make too big a deal about her looks because I don’t want her obsessed like me. I try to focus on all the other things, like smart, creative, funny.
But she is a beautiful little girl. And when she gets older she’ll grow a body like my mother had, and like I had, and we can all just forget about sleeping for the next however many years.
I worry because, I can say I wasn’t stupid and made mostly good choices. But I think she’s going to have many more choices to make than I did.
She’s going to be popular, have lots of friends, get invited to parties, probably be offered things I never was. And she has a rebellious streak. I won’t be surprised if she tries things, like sneaking out. Just because I never did anything in high school doesn’t mean she won’t.
That’s right. I was a good girl before I got to college.
No, I say that to be funny. I really wasn’t that wild, even there. I was pretty much like I was in high school: smart, shy, reserved. Mostly chaste. I did very very well academically.
But I did pick up smoking there, and it took me a long time to finally quit for good. Everybody at UNH smoked. Well before there were smartphones on campus, there were clove cigarettes. We always say that in the 90s, the front steps of Hamilton-Smith were just one big cloud of smoke. Everyday.
Some people love to smoke. I was one of them. I would smoke while I was writing. I don’t mind the smell, even still, of cigarette smoke.
The taste, though, is disgusting, now. I tried to have one several years ago, right after I was laid off? I was sick to my stomach for the next three days. I can’t ever go back, and I’m glad. It’s a time, money, and life waster.
Well, I have gone on for quite some time. I need to get moving. Have a happy Friday, my fine readers. Thanks as always for reading.