twenty two hours.

i don't know when it happened, but it appears that i've become the world's biggest softie. i went with the divine miss n last night to catch tim burton's latest flick, big fish. and i spent no less than half of it on the verge of huge, choking sobs, overwhelmed by the tenderness of the film. this is just the latest manifestation of a rather alarming trend i've been observing in myself, in which the slightest thing -- sad movies, emotionally overwrought music, long distance telephone service commercials -- causes my eyes to well up and my jaw to stick in my throat.

how, i ask you, did this happen?

what happened to the glorious cynicism of my youth? when did i become such a soft touch? what does this mean for the future? am i going to hit a point where small children and puppies cause me to cry? am i going to start  collecting those 'precious moments' monstrosities, suddenly finding myself susceptible to their questionable charms? it doesn't bear thinking about.

meanwhile, i don't think i'll rest easy until once again i can once again aim a rounding cackle at the touching and sweet. alas.

do you ever have those moments where you're not certain if you're going to laugh, cry, fly into hysterics, or melt away completely?

deep in the thick of one of those right now. having just received my first love letter.

i got my w-2 form today, finally.

having been royally fucked by the taxman last year (hello, eight hundred dollars owed), i was a little trepidacious to open it; i was not emotionally prepared to face the prospect of again needing to suck it up and pull that kind of money out of my ass (new york being, as i'm constantly reminding my father, not the kind of town where a girl on my salary can actually squirrel money away)....

thus, i'm sure you can imagine the delighted cackle when i found out that i would not only not be in debt to the federal government, but that i was owed 400 dollars. 400 dollars! that's a new ipod or a downpayment on a new computer!

though i do owe money to the state and city of new york. twenty six whole dollars, those vultures.

this morning was rapidly shaping up to be one of those that simply refuse to fit. woke up late, had to go skittering out of the house with wet hair (always a smart thing to do when the weather authority is predicting six inches of snow before the end of the day), feeling a bit icksome and acutely aware that Boy gets on a plane to san diego tonight (and while i feel better knowing he will be in good hands, i remain in a constant state of le sigh at the prospect of his absence for five days).

basically, one of those days where you just get the feeling that the only sensible thing to do would be to pull the sheets over your head and not leave your home under any circumstances.

but, leave my home i did (there is still some work to be done here, after all), braving the freezing cold and the icy streets. time came to kiss Boy goodbye and wish him safe journey; as we're in the midst of doing this, a man walks past us and calls out just loud enough to hear, "now that's what makes the world go round."

i took that as a sign that things were going to get better.

a few random bits and bobs that have crossed my desk today: ear candling, where to take a blind person for dinner, , breakdancing for the pope, iraqi chocolates, the evil wrongness that is halle berry's catwoman costume, new orleans, norwegian drumlines, dean vs. kerry, roadside america and fear of the impending snowstorms.

I remember redwood trees, bumper cars and wolverines
The ocean's Trident submarines
Lemons, limes and tangerines
I remember this

i dreamt last night of the pacific, that someone had harnessed a short stretch of it and brought it to the east river, superimposing it over the promenade at brooklyn heights. they'd chosen a stretch i'd never seen, all white sand dunes and water the color of every tropical dream, but it didn't fit over the skyline. the chrysler building and the empire state peeked out from the top of the scenery; even though i could see around the facade, though, i sat rapt on the sand, staring out onto the water as though my gaze would part the waters and help me understand where i fit between the two.

i knew it wasn't home, but for that moment i wanted it to be. even as it picked me up and threw me backwards into downtown brooklyn, i pretended that this was how it had always been.

I remember this defense
Progress fails pacific sense
All those sweet conspiracies
I remember all these things

i dreamt last night of the american west, of the golden coast where the sky slips into the sea as though it were silk. i saw clearly how pink the hills become at sunset, and how longingly the light of august drips into the river. i dreamt of the wineries and the redwoods and the coffee shop where i spent my adolescence, of everything that marked my non-adult life. when first i left it, i couldn't turn my neck to look back; my resolve and my contempt made me too brittle to let it in. even now, i try to keep up the facade that i don't think about it like an old flame. as though missing my home would mark me as less than hardcore.

i haven't been back to california in two years; i haven't seen my mother in nearly that long. and though i act as though this is okay with me, a little part of me aches to revisit the scene of the crime. in the meantime, though, i dig my heels into the turf out here; i pretend that this is how it has always been.

Low ebb, high tide
The lowest ebb and highest tide
I guess we took us for a ride
I guess it's just a gesture

i dreamt last night of all those things that once caused me to curl my lip, from the weather to the earnestness of the people, but as i sit in this city, far from my family and far from home, i find myself aching for the road i can drive in the dark, for a world where i don't understand the meaning of the world 'cold,' and the sense of purpose i had when i lived there, even if that purpose was simply "get out."

when i moved to new york, i promised myself that i would never go back. i promised that i would never be one of those people who never makes it further than 150 miles away from where they grew up, i promised myself that i would never be homesick for that place, because it was not where i belonged. and maybe it's not. but sometimes, here in the concrete jungle, i grow tired of the ring of the voices on concrete, and i long to hear my own footsteps walking out among the oaks that i once knew so well. i want to remember who i was when i was soft and impatient for everything to begin; while i am quite fond of myself at this moment in my life, i no longer feel like pretending that this is how i've always been.

At the end of the continent
At the edge of the continent
At the end of the continent
At the edge of the continent

i handed in my resignation today. to say it was one of the single most satisfying moments of my life would be to do it no justice. to hand it to bosslady on her first trip to the office in ages, to say that i'm taking next wednesday for training, or the following friday for a trip, with no quarter? priceless. (her response: 'well, can we get an extra day, since you'll take wednesday?' mine: 'no.')

my only regret came in the meeting with scary vp that followed, in which we discovered that (to no one's surprise), bosslady would not be returning to the office, choosing instead to stay home and mother her sproglets. as such, they are going to be conducting a hard search, both within and without the company, to replace her. and that whoever they choose may not be located in this office. the subtext here is the confirmation of our fears and suspicions: they're gunning to move this department to florida, though they'd never dare say it aloud. to look around the table the moment this realization sunk in was absolutely heartbreaking. seeing my three colleagues, my smart, capable colleagues, told that this company officially doesn't care that the four of us have built this department from nothing into something really good, that we are expendable and easily redundant....was horrible. the absence of hope was suddenly made palpable, and the sense of defeat overwhelming.

i count myself so lucky that i've somehow, against all odds, managed to escape. but somehow, i feel like i'm leaving my entire platoon stranded behind enemy lines.

(because i'm a bad person, however, that does very little to mar my seething euphoria)

mix tapes, sex, next wednesday, tact, murder, laundry, practice, strings, new guitar strap, chocolate, summer, dewey's hair, my hair, back muscles, jealousy, classical guitar, punching bags, anger management, prozac, forgiveness, health insurance, comic books, alcoholism, nailpolish, wire cutters, mtv, new orleans, palm beach, napping, photography, doubletalk, acronyms, legwarmers, secrets, emma peel, friday.