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Hooray for Boobies & Other Fat Lady Tales

✏ 38 year old cis female ✏ Fat ✏ Married ✏ Crazy Cat Lady ✏ Opinionated ✏ Swear-ey ✏ All caps silliness ✏ occasional pretendy writer ✏ LJ immigrant ✏ Journaling since 2006 ✏ Ex chatroom /forum role player ✏ Now on Tumblr ✏

Jul. 25th, 2007

elf_fu: (Last Unicorn)
I hate the sound of night time. The whirring, spinning, whining hum of little plastic fans and my room alight with nothing more than LED. There is no joy in such sounds as there would be joy in the sound of a man’s snore reminding me there is comfort within reach or the gentle purr of a cat curled close.

These noises are that of dead things trying to be alive. They run and circulate air through bits and pieces which connect us to people trying to be alive electronically. They carry this false promise of human contact, helping us to forget what a hug truly feels like or how a kiss from a lover leaves a tingly-burn on the skin after.

They are wicked ghosts of life, and at night they arise to rattle their chains at me, mocking.

I will not listen to them. I bend down at night and make them sleep. I make them listen to the cat’s purr, to my lover’s snoring, to my own sleep sighs, to the sound of the morning coming, bursting, blooming, laughing life. I tell them when I leave to take pictures of sand that I hate them.

And it makes it a little easier the next time sleep dances away, and I begin to hate the sound of night time again.

Magic

Jul. 25th, 2007 01:23 pm
elf_fu: (Last Unicorn)
Last night I was feeling my insomnia, so I decided to make a post-it-star plant for Shawn, my husband.

This consists of little post-it notes he bought me eons ago which are shaped like stars. On them, I write silly things or serious things and stick them in his lunch or his pocket for him to find later.

Instead of putting them in his lunch or what not, I decided to stick them to our bathroom mirror, which has also fallen victim to being a platform for us to communicate over with dry erase markers --and afterward, draw stems and leaves from them making the notes look like little flowers.

What I wrote on them isn't important to me. They were little bits of truth or silly things one should say to someone they love occasionally, but the response is what has had me tearing up off and on all day.

"You make everything I do worth doing and you make me a better person."

No one has ever said that to me that I can remember and I cannot possibly tell you how beautiful it is to read, to know.

If you have someone that makes everything worth while, if you have someone that, at the end of the day when you're exhausted, cranky, tired, irritable but makes you smile anyway--tell them. Tell them they make it all worth while and watch them glow.

It's magic.

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