Posts Tagged ‘sister’


May 23, 2013

I don’t think my sister has wifi. Why should that matter to YOU? Well, by the time you’re reading this, we will be in her flat.

We had always planned to go to ..uh, big capitol city we used to live in, let’s call it Luvdom, this weekend. She is having all of her furniture and everything shipped from Country A and has been in a bare flat with only one plate, knife, and fork for months, which is why she hasn’t wanted us yet. Well, her furniture is yet to arrive, but we were like, shit, dawg, we can camp there. We keep it real with the plastic bags shoved full of our own bedding and inflatable beds. No probs.

Unfortunately her dog is a bit ill, and Blondie needs to take her to the vet Thursday for some medical stuff to be done. At exactly the same time the Country A people will be delivering her shit. So, like the dyke in shining armour I am, we will be driving up to Luvdom Wednesday night after TMD gets home from work. Me and the kids are staying through Monday, while TMD is taking the train back to our city…..PirateTown (they talk like fucking pirates here, really)… Thursday, going to work Friday, then coming back to Luvdom.

I’m happy she’s coming, because directing moving people around a strange flat while keeping two three year olds out of the way would have been a real treat.

Friday Blondie has to work. So we will be visiting her office – let’s just say every kid in the country would KILL for a chance to do so. She works for a very popular and well known gaming company, and kids everywhere are obsessed with collecting all the merchandise, watching the YouTube videos, playing the game, etc. Her office has recently been featured in My Favourite Newspaper/Website as ‘Country B’s coolest office’ or some such thing. It has a slide between levels! And all sorts of other stuff. The kids will love it. And no doubt walk away with all sorts of freebies.

I’m hoping we will see Lady and her gorgeous boys that day as well – she lives in Luvdom, so we don’t often get to meet up. She doesn’t have a blog that I’m aware of, so I’m saying here for the record that she knows of the chicken pox risk and is willing to take it. This is a binding public statement.

Next Tuesday will make it two weeks from two days before Snort came out in spots, which is Coco’s earliest possible exposure. So hopefully she won’t get spots till mid/late next week, but who knows. In theory she could get them Saturday. Unlikely, but there you are.

At any rate, today is packing, oh, epic packing. A trip to the dentist for my still crazy tooth, all the drama from it gives me copious diarrhoea. Then an illicit drive thru trip for tea, changing kids into pajamas, and leaving for Luvdom around 7. You’re reading this sometime after 10 am Thursday, which means through the magic of time travel we will have already had two kids sleep in the car to Luvdom, before waking up and staying up till like 2 am from excitement and recharged sleep batteries. Which means you are reading this as I weep with exhaustion, fake smiling every time the movers look at me.

Catch you on the flip side.

(And lest you think of robbing us, we are not leaving the house empty and devoid of people.)

Happy birthday to me!

September 5, 2012

Woke up to three people very excited about my birthday. Snort exclaimed, ‘Your birthday is NOT tomorrow!’ and keeps singing Happy Birthday to me. Coconut said, ‘Mama, is your birthday a chocolate or ice cream one? I think chocolate.’

Snort picked out a Yankee Candle that was the exact flavour (Mango Peach Salsa) he bought for TMD last Christmas. Spooky.  Coconut got me the heavenly smelling Red Velvet. Made me laugh as they each picked a candle that was their twin’s favourite colour.

Anyway, I also woke up to this from my sister.

“You’re Smart and Pretty and Cool and I Want to Be Just Like You,” says Stephanie Tanner to DJ Tanner

When I was little my sister was not a human.  She was my God.  She was defiant, not eating any foods that resembled membranes.  She checked the packaging on every meat we ingested to make sure it wasn’t killed by our father’s hands pulling a trigger.  I trusted her above all other sources.  I ate what she ate.  I wanted to do what she did.  She was my world.

My sister was impossibly intelligent.  My mom would not let her take baths because she would read in the tub until she got wrinkly +hours.  When we peaked in the shower she was just doing the same thing… with the water spout turned inwards.  She could read a book in hours.  I watched her eat up novels, one by one… in every place we traveled.  I always wanted to be in the world she had found for herself as I clumsily trounced through my life.

My sister was my imagination.  Around her I wasn’t Blondie.  I was a mermaid.  I was diving in our pool not for golf balls, but for magic shells.  Anything could exist.  Anything could be.  It didn’t matter if I was three or four or fix or six.  We’d build cruise ships out of rafts and on them our dolls would float to exotic places that I knew one day I’d see myself.  We had a Saturday night sneak out club.  We wrote in notebooks of the places we’d escape to.  We could sleep on the roof, under the table, anywhere…. Though we may have never left our beds it was about the possibility of the all in front of us that made me feel like the world wasn’t impossible to conquer.

My parents divorce was almost as scary as thunderstorms.  When either happened I would crawl into my sister’s bed.  I knew she could keep me safe.  I knew she understood something I didn’t.  Somehow it all made more sense when I saw that she was OK.  She was stronger than I was… older and wiser.  I managed to get through everything mostly unharmed from her hugs and occasionally covering up my ears while turning up the TV to mute out the arguing.

My sister and I thought we could get anything via rhyme.  Our favorite restaurant was Red Lobster, though both of us didn’t eat seafood.  We wanted to go simply to eat baskets of the cheesy bread that came before any meal.  Together we’d sing songs of why our parents should take us, snapping our fingers in a way only a very convincing childhood duo could do.  This was the stuff of legends.  THIS is why our diet consisted of a lot of cheese bread.

At some point I became the annoying little sister instead of the friend.  I wanted to follow my sister around everywhere.  I wanted to understand her.  I wanted to read her diary (and to my shame, I did, even leaving comments in the margins).  I felt left out as she grew up without me.  Me, without boobs & wearing a pink K’s School of Dance shirt when I thought I could do jazz competitions for a living.  I didn’t know what I wanted without her.  I didn’t know what I was supposed to do on my own.

Then my sister left for college.  Occasionally, we would get lost in the car a lot in the upcoming years… once for hours trying to find Old Navy.   Another time we got hopelessly lost coming back from {awesome amusement park}.  Lost we were never lost.  We laughed.  We talked.  My sister is the reason I’m not afraid to be unsure as an adult.  I can enjoy every moment of uncertainty and love the people around me like crazy doing it.  It’s OK to be unsure.  It’s OK to not follow anyone’s plan.  It’s OK to be different.  These are all the things I gathered from her wisdom & still all the things that get me through every single day I live to date.  I still totally suck at directions, but it works out alright because I’m always open for adventure.

Years later my sister is a mother to twins and a loving wife in a just over ten year relationship.  It’s funny because she always told me she had twins in her belly when we were little. I thought it was because she didn’t want me to punch her in the stomach, but perhaps it was something more.  She is selfless and patient in this way I have never seen a human be.  She is a fun and creative mom and it makes me giggle with glee that now her children will get to dive for mermaid/men shells.  I know that when they are sad she holds them just like she used to hold me when I was angry or scared.  I know that when they are lost she will laugh and show them that misdirection can end up beautiful.  I know she’ll protect them in a way I used to think was reserved just for me. I know she’ll show them that it’s OK to be different, in fact, it’s preferred.

And watching her instills a sense of faith in me that love and family can exist in a remotely non-painful way.  To see genuine love, something my sister and I always believed in,  get found makes it feel safe for me to hold out for something just as great when all my friends seem to be moving on in their lives.  I’m strong alone, and because of my sister I know that it’s not about if it exists, it’s about being patient and just having faith in yourself until it gets there for you.

Today is my sister’s birthday.  Though it kills me every single day to not be around her and her lovely wife and children she’s with me in every moment.  She’s the stack of books I can’t wait to consume on my bedside table.  She’s the little dance I do in front of the mirror as I yell out lyrics she taught me. Most of all when I ever feel lost or confused she’s the voice in my head that keeps me calm and safe.  She’s the first true love I ever experienced… the kind of love that only we can understand.

Happy Birthday, Existere.  I love you more than words can say, and though I probably don’t say it nearly enough, thank you for everything you’ve taught me and for everything you’ve contributed to who I am today.  You’re the most wonderful person I have ever had the chance of getting to know and you are truly my hero.

Wow, huh? Just wow.


She is smart, pretty, and cool and I want to be just like her.

January 26, 2010

Today my sister turns 26. For her, a handful of select childhood memories:


Bite Monster: the scariest fucking game in the universe. She would chomp her teeth together and advance on me; she was like Michael Myers. It didn’t matter how fast I ran or where I went, her slow and steady gait inspired a level of terror in me you would not believe. For awhile I thwarted her by stiffening my arms into straight lines, making fists, and moving them up and down in an alternate way. This stopped working as soon as she realised I wouldn’t actually hit her.


Behind our house and nice green grass with requisite trees was a strip of woods. These woods had a teensy tiny creek. In the winter we would snowsuit ourselves up and slide along the ice on our bellies. One year the ice cracked (I’m talking a trickle of water here, people) and the brown water began to pool on the ice. We freaked and semi-climbed a tree, staying there for hours.


Blondie also liked to try to punch me in the stomach (seeing a pattern here, people?). I stopped her doing this by telling her I was pregnant with twins: Daisy and Joey. A few years in and a triplet appeared: Petunia.


The anger in my chest as I realised she and her friend had gone through my paper journals with a red pen, making bitchy little notes in the margin.


The pride that swelled in me every time I got to see her play volleyball in high school. Or run track. Or do that scary ass high jump thing. She was really, really good at sports and I was really, really good at sitting in the stands and sending her good vibes.


Saturday Night Sneak Out Club. No list of memories would be complete without this on the list. I decided that every Saturday night we would wait until our parents were asleep, then find a location in the house to have a slumber party for two. I even dedicated a notebook to recording our escapades. We never actually did this; she says that she used to come and try to wake me up and I would just flail at her in my sleep.


Camping in …uh….Country C. The way you could earn a button/badge thing for every bag of garbage you collected. Riding our bikes to the nightly educational movies. Climbing the rocks at the end of the beach. Stony beaches. The island on the sand dune. Bears at the dump.

Did you know, Blondie, we went when you were very little and stayed in a tent? You rolled over on top of a lantern and your sleeping bag melted.


Watching my mother dive into the swimming pool to rescue baby Blondie after she had rolled in and sunk to the bottom. Watching the babysitter drop Blondie on her head on the hardwood floors of our family room. Watching Blondie fall on her head onto an asphalt parking lot.


Vampires: a semi-scary, delicious game. (All our games involved biting, apparently.) We would take turns securing ourselves in a pile of pillows and blankets. When we were ready, we would call out for the other one to pretend to be a vampire and break into our little nests. This one was good shit. I know it sounds lame, but it was fucking awesome.


Both in the bathtub, slipping and sliding back and forth, water sloshing everywhere. We had another lame-o game (but still awesome!) that involved trying to avoid letting a washcloth or multiple washcloths touch us while we were in the tub.


I remember when Blondie was a baby in a walker, and there was a tornado watch. My grandparents were over and we all sat in the kitchen while she rolled around, looking at us each in turn. This memory is the yellow colour of faded photographs, and one of my happiest snapshots.

Every other baby memory that doesn’t involve threatened cranial damage involves her thick, thick black hair and her endless baby screaming.


Another memory: a tornado coming, Mom tucking us into a cardboard box in the basement, throwing a thick mattress on top of us. Endless other tornado times in the basement, Grandma’s afgans pulled over our faces in case glass broke.


A morbid thing I always did…slowing down my actions, flipping my hair, laughing. Saying, ‘This is how you’ll remember me when I’m dead.’


The mirror, the mirror, oh the mirror. Arching our backs randomly and just saying, ‘SAVE me, from the FIRE.’ Always done with a grimace.

Or the mean little song from a Muppet-type movie: Blondie, never really learned how to play…oh eee oh…she’s always been a stick in the mud. Blondie, now I’m gonna show you the way ….oh eee oh….why you wanna be a dud. She sang this to me as well. It was like the ultimate insult.


Forehead pushes. We would face each other, bend over, and push our foreheads together as hard as possible while, yes, grimacing. This was satisfying to me in a weird ass way.


We liked Full House. On one episode, Michelle said to DJ, ‘You’re smart, pretty, and cool and I want to be just like you.’ I always said this to her….’Because I’m smart, pretty, and cool and you want to be just like me?’ We laughed about this a lot.

When we grew up, she told me that yes, I was smart, pretty, and cool and she wanted to be just like me.


My sister is a survivor. My sister tries to heal her wounds and is not sure how. My sister is an explorer, a poet, a smart businesswoman, a creative shape-changing she-girl who is always reinventing herself. My sister lives for the woods, for adrenaline, for new things. My sister longs for stability and romance and a perfect understanding of things.

She is beautiful, curious, brave, funny, quirky, hopeful.

Happy birthday to you,
happy birthday to you,
happy birthday, dear sister,
happy birthday to you.

I am glad you are the one that remembers our childhood with me.

I had five years without you in my life, and the first time I held you in my arms, I was stunned by happiness. I finally had my baby, my little sister, and I was gentle with you. Forgive me for the times I was not as gentle, but remember that there is always a five year old in me who is amazed, deeply, at how much I love you and how much you belong in my life.

And then there were two.

August 31, 2009

Due  to how jacked up WordPress is behind the scenes, I only just realised (20 days late – our babies are 20 days old!) my sister wrote this. Sticking it up for posterity’s sake…

This is blondie writing to say that my sister is safe & sound and both of the babies are doing great. I won’t give away anymore details because I’m sure she wants to let you know the rest. However, if you were as worried as I was I thought you’d want to know she’s happy & healthy!

Good sheet.

June 2, 2009

I very rarely buy songs from iTunes ’cause I is poor, but just bought two little ditties because I NEEDED THEM.

1. Summertime – Mungo Jerry

2. Summertime – Will Smith

Other things I have decided I need? Aside from the netbook, I mean? I want DVDs that feature summer camps. Yesterday I almost watched Sleepaway Camp simply because it featured a bunch of screaming kids and and an archery field. It’s summer, there is sunshine, and I want to watch movies that make me feel like I am outside and having fun.

(Not seen Sleepaway Camp? If you enjoy bad horror movies from the 70s/80s, this might be right up your street. It also features the BEST last 30 seconds of a movie you are ever likely to see. For whatever reason, my little sister and I rented this movie about six thousand times when we were children. I think it was the awesome back cover – Dear Mom, Camp has been fun so far, but things are starting to get weird. Kids are disappearing. Wait, I think I hear something…. and then the letter is covered in blood. GOOD SHIT.)

Naming babies.

May 20, 2009

I was reading through comments on the last few entries (yes, I am still locked in my bedroom hiding from the racist builder and desperate for diversion!!) and noticed that I had the strongest response to comments about names. So, names.

TMD and I have been talking about boys and girls names for a long time, having a particularly hard time with the boy side of things. We eventually decided to have shortlists (two good names per baby, though my mother suggests having a few more in case either baby was sexed incorrectly at the scan – probably a good point!) and naming them when we saw their little faces.

We decided not to share these shortlists for a couple of reasons:

One, we had semi-decided on names a long time ago. Now the original boy’s name has completely changed as TMD wants to vomit when she hears it, and the little girl’s name seems to have changed as well. We are indecisive like this and do not want to commit! Sharing names only to change them every few weeks seems a wee bit crazy.

Two, names seem to be what a lot of people are focusing on. Don’t get me wrong, I like to pester pregnant woman about names as well! But you hear these stories about people offering funny feedback (though sure most of our family and friends Would Not Dare) and don’t want to open ourselves up to everyone offering an opinion, suggestion, etc. Don’t get me wrong – if you have a GREAT boy’s or girl’s name, leave it in the comments! We have been too cheap to buy a baby names book and like to consider lots of options.

Three, my mother. You see, my family is sort of matriarchal. It is mostly comprised of a strong line of women at the core, generation after generation. The men (or women, in my case) marry into our family, but the women run the fucking show. There is no two ways about it.

An interesting side effect seems to be an inadvertent tradition that has popped up.  I’m not sure how far back it goes, as my great-grandparents were immigrants and we do not know anyone in their original country.  My grandmother’s middle name is her mother’s first name. My mother’s middle name is her mother’s first name. Things change up a little bit – I’m the firstborn girl, but my middle name is, well, just my middle name. It does happen to be another version of my great-grandmother’s name, but I don’t think that was intentional. My little sister’s middle name is our grandmother’s name.

So, you see, my mother’s first name has not been middle-named yet. She really, really wants her name included somehow. She hasn’t out and out said so, but every conversation includes suggestions of how her name could be incorporated. She now calls our little baby girl ‘Little [mom’s name].’

This is awkward because, well, my mom’s name is pretty if you are living in the 1970s and enjoy flower power discos. Also, shortened versions of her name (which she continually offers as a suggestion) are an awkward thing for TMD and I – her shortened name is the name of a friend I had when TMD and I were going through a particularly rough time and we don’t really care to be reminded of it. Plus, it’s an unattractive name.

I also really want my grandmother’s name incorporated. If you read my blog around the time she died, you will have learned that she has had a monumental effect on me as a person. I hold her up as someone I want to be. She was brave, funny, a storyteller, and very very genuine. I had previously talked with TMD about naming the little girl my grandmother’s name.

Then as soon as we got pregnant, TMD confessed she didn’t like it as a first name – okay. So we decided on it as a middle name. (Are you bored or confused yet? Congratulations if you are still around at this point. Please forgive me for all the name waffling.) We also ‘decided’ on a first name – which just happens to be my paternal great-grandmother’s name. There is no connection here. Except, of course, my mom would probably be pissed that someone from That Side of the family was the baby’s first name.


That name is still on our shortlist, but we feel pretty secure with yet another name we have picked. I really, really love my paternal grandmother’s name but think it will get left out completely. It sounds lovely as a middle name with the first name we’ve chosen, but it is more important for me to include my grandma’s name. Make sense?

We figure wait till the babies pop out, name ’em, and everyone will just be so pleased to meet the newest additions to our family that no one will particularly give a flying fuck about their names. Except maybe my mom. But I might always have another little girl – and there is always my sister, if she decides to have children. And also, my mom totally broke the naming tradition of our family, so I am only following in her renegade footsteps.

I do like my mom’s name, I want to say. But really prefer one syllable, simple names for middle names. Especially as I think TMD’s last name will be the second middle name for both babies. She really doesn’t want to burden them with a double-barreled last name, and likes my last name more than hers. But I worry because I want her to be completely included and as the bio mom I already will be recognised in some spheres (ie immigration in my home country) as the ‘real’ mom and that’s bullshit! So definitely want her surname included in the mix.

Anyone still awake at this point?

I am not a number, I am a free man!

April 30, 2009

Spoke to mom today and let her know that her fiber bars have fucked me up. She laughed and told me Bear (stepdad) ate two in one day a few weeks ago and encouraged me to imagine what that did to his system. And people wonder why I talk about shit all the time?! My family is obsessed. Except poor Bear. No one must ever mention they know about this fiber bar catastrophe, as he is actually very private and easily embarassed.You think being married to my mother would have cured him of that, but noooOOOOoo.

I also meant to say a few weeks ago that we were talking about what life might be like once the babies were here. I think I said something about how four year olds are supposed to have shorter attention spans, like running around, and be playful. My mother then said, ‘Just don’t break their spirits.’

Um, what?

She proceeded to tell me that when I was three, my teacher told her that I was refusing to participate in singing a song.

‘Do you remember the tree song, Existere? You know – I am a tree, shake shake shake, apples fall down?’

No, Mom. I don’t.

Apparently I told her I would not sing the song because it was not true. I was not a tree, I was a person. She grabbed my arm, screamed at me to always do what the teacher said, and gave me a spanking.

Poor me! I was fucking right, as well. I’m not a tree, damnit! My mother ruefully acknowledged that I am not a tree, I never was a tree, and she should have let me not sing that song if I didn’t want to. She also said that by the time my little sister came, she was so worn out from me that she let Blondie do whatever the hell she wanted. Perhaps this explains Blondie’s immediate ease with strangers and acting like a lunatic (I mean this in a good way), while it takes me awhile to warm up to things.

Blondie went through a phase in her teen years of imitating velociraptors. I spent my time creating imaginary worlds by writing and – I admit it – playing with Fisher Price little people. I always thought this was a charming indication of my creativity and imagination, but perhaps it is evidence of my broken spirit.


Crank it up to the next level, boyz. And LOOK at my giant bump. Perhaps this weekend will bring prictures for you lucky people.

February 26, 2009

Woah. Lots of hip pain responses. That’s what we like to see – other ladies in discomfort. It’s like pregnancy porn for sickos. (I exclude myself from the sicko category in this instance, however.)

I could write you another numbered list of even more things that have happened. All of it is overshadowed by the ongoing sickness. The new pattern seems to be by midweek I am vomiting loads, fatigued, get migraines, have a nasty resurgence of my cold, and call in sick. I had a little crying jag to my boss’ boss today. Tomorrow is the first proper antenatal appointment, although even that is just a booking appointment (which should have happened at least a month ago, but who’s counting? Oh yeah, ME). My boss’ boss seems to think I am going to be signed off from work.

I don’t know. Either way, I have to cut my hours way down because my body – and therefore mind – is clearly not coping with working full time and being a twincubator full time.

Those little babies are kicking like wild donkeys on speed, and I just want to focus on them and not on how miserable I feel. I called across the world (eight time zones) to speak to my sister at 1 am her time, and I just sobbed out, ‘I just needed to hear the voice of someone who loves me.’

Whine whine, moan moan. At least the pregnancy is ‘out’ on Facebook, so it’s nice to be getting supportive and copious comments on there.

Had a scan on Monday and Baby M headbutted Baby T so, so, so hard that Baby T’s entire body rippled from the impact. I will tell you their ‘names’ in a later post, because I only just vomited into a tissue box and think it’s time to sleep. After all, I have to wake up super early and try to piss in a urine specimen pot that is about as wide as a pencil.



December 14, 2008

Pregnancy testing early: to do or not to do, that is the question. Right now, scores of you are probably thinking, ‘Don’t do it! What if you get a false negative and it makes you feel all desperate and depressed?’

As I said to TMD last night, I know I am pregnant – I just want confirmation.

So before we went to bed we put out a cup for me to pee in this morning, an expensive pregnancy test, and a lot of discussion. I said that I would have to approach this calmly.





What? How can this be so? Are you sure you see the line? You see the line, right? Why aren’t I more happy? Do you definitely see the line? Let’s take the test back into bed with us and see if the line is still visible in dim lighting. I see it. I really fucking see the line? Do you? You knew you were pregnant, so maybe this is anti-climactic? Is the line fading? Do you still see it?

My pal Pregnancy Line appeared almost instantly. It’s quite faint as, let’s face it, this is very early days. If I tested again in a few days, it would likely be much darker. But in the meantime, as the people on the pregnancy message boards say, A LINE IS A LINE.





(What happens on existere stays on existere, please. No facebook messages or banners outside the house. You are literally the first people to know. I tried to call my sister and she’s apparently out on the town, so I want my family to know by my mouth, not by facebook’s…um, face. Thanks!)


 Feeling quite shaky and carrying the pregnancy test around with me wherever I go. Also carrying around a baby or two with me wherever I go. So freaky!

The future grandma comes to stay.

November 12, 2008

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrough. That’s how I feel physically, but emotionally I’m doing great.

I do not think ice packs help with the needles. I am going to try the excellent tip left in my comments – though my creepy noise I make when injecting is helping. Maybe. Perhaps I’ll record it at some point and post it here. There’s certainly no way the banshee wailing could break my anonymity.

I did the injection completely on my own last night, though TMD was sat next to me as usual. Tonight will be my first injection when she’s not home. This can go one of two ways: I’ll either go deadly calm and do well because I have do, or I’ll panic/cry/scream and then do well because I have to.

Last night I was seized with the irrational fear that I was ‘doing this wrong.’ That we wouldn’t have a baby because I wasn’t working the needles correctly. TMD said, ‘What other way is there to do it?’

She is so sane.

My mother flies in at the crack of dawn (or maybe before?) tomorrow. We have to leave the house at 5 am to go get her. Not sure how much blogging there will be, but stay tuned as I have taken all sorts of IVF pictures – as promised – and even made a little bit of inspirational art out of the needles. I’m really proud of it.

It will show its little arty face here when I get a chance to put the pics on the computer.

In the meantime, I need to get back to work as this is my last day before I’m off till next Weds. Can’t wait to see my mom and have a pretend Christmas.

Love to you all. *squeeze*

PS – (Are adults allowed to say ‘PS’?) My sister is sending me all these links to child equipment – like climbing harnesses, strollers, etc. She is da bomb. (Are normal people allowed to say ‘da bomb’?) She’s gonna be a fabulous aunt.

I do wish my family lived on the same continent as me.

CRAP! PPS, or whatever. I didn’t note down why I feel physically crap. I was woken early this morning with a headache – it was so bad it woke me up. I managed to go back to sleep, but have had a low grade headache the entire day and just felt rather out of it. I do think this is a side effect, as I’m not a headachey girl.

I need to say something jazzy so the last line of this entry is not about headache.


I watched a show about the hotel The Shining was based on last night. Is that jazzy enough?