mnvnjnsn's Diary

To contact send email to mnvnjnsnATSIGNgmailDOTcom.



Ghosts of Christmasses past

Itís getting harder to come up with witty introductions to these fives every Friday:

1. Would you consider yourself an organized person? Why or why not?
Letís say no. As much as I like the idea of organization, my life is cluttered and messy and usually unlaundered on the floor.

2. Do you keep some type of planner, organizer, calendar, etc. with you, and do you use it regularly?
I have a handspring that I use as my calendar (as well as my blood glucose monitor. I really canít recommend that enough. Itís got stats! And graphs!), and if I didnít have that Iíd never make it to anything on the right day.

3. Would you say that your desk is organized right now?
It is surprisingly neat at the moment, but only because I did a massive recycling effort yesterday.

4. Do you alphabetize CDs, books, and DVDs, or does it not matter?
Ha! No. I have a hard enough time keeping the disks in their proper cases. ďOK Computer? I think itís in that Dickies CD case. No, not the Killer Clowns soundtrack. The one with ďIf Stewart Could Talk.Ē

5. What's the hardest thing you've ever had to organize?
My medical history. I now have a CV (or, a Curriculum Aegrus [pardon my latin]) that lists all my diseases, medications, surgeries, hospitalizations and doctors. Thatís a hard thing to keep track of. Can you name the dosages of all your medications dating back to 1980? I thought not.

Hmmm. Iím not that impressed with this weekís questions. I donít feel my readership has learned anything about me by knowing that Iím not particularly good at organization. I think yíall probably picked that up early on. And I feel that the mediocre questions have left my readersÖ unfulfilled. Because Lord knows that empty feeling youíre having isnít my fault.

I had another rage-filled dream last night, probably because of all the memories stirred up by the opening of the Estelle Vault yesterday. The interesting thing about this one was that it took place in my grandmotherís house, not the house I grew up in. There was a big Christmas thing happening, and all my aunts and uncles and cousins etc., were there, along with many many children whom I didnít recognize, but was apparently related to. Everyone was bustling around amidst the confusion of who got what presents, who was supposed to bring what for whom, and where everyone was sitting. This is, in fact, what our Christmasses are really like. My extended family get-togethers have a whole set of unwritten by-laws (or, ďtraditionsĒ) that keep us all in a state of mild consternation. Whoís bringing what food again? What birthdays are being celebrated? Is there alcohol? Well, thereís always alcohol.

Anyway, back to the dream. I was, as usual in these types of dreams, incredibly upset with my mother. But, unlike other rage focussed dreams, this time Iím also mad at everyone else. Aunt K, Uncle B, even Cousin L just enraged me for no apparent reason. There were what seemed like hundreds of kids around, and I guess I felt alternately ignored and singled out for abuse. Though really? I donít think anybody did anything out of line, nor did they notice me throwing food and popping pills. It was really weird.

And the other thing? No Estelle. Sheís been insinuating herself into my family functions for 20 years in real life, but she wasnít at this dream function.

Perhaps I am trying to deal with my anger over the complicity weíve all had when it comes to Estelle. We include her in everything, and take her back-handed compliments and offhand racist remarks without comment. Itís not that we want to, but itís for my mother, whom we all love. Itís easier to try to tune Estelle out than to tell Mom that we unanimously cannot stand this woman.

On a different note, but same subject, I have issues with the whole gift-exchange concept when it comes to Estelle. I donít want anything from her, I donít want to shop for her. But Estelle usually insists on buying multiple gifts every holiday, stuff unrelated to anyoneís tastes or interests. Itís usually worst with us three kids. The significant others are usually spared the usual stories regaling us about why that ugly six-inch brooch was just perfect for us, and she bought it way back in June of 1996 and how she only just now found it and doesnít it just look so great?!? In the past, the boys have received useful things, like dress shirts, or pocket knives, or iced-tea making machines.

But this year? She gave Trevor Dunnigan a book on County Fairs. Welcome to the family, my man.

11:24 a.m. - 2003-05-09


previous - next

latest entry

about me





random entry