fra ra ra

sigur ros is playing. the best music has a seamlessness of applicability: it can be appreciated whether driving, fucking, being giddy, being morose... and this does not fulfill every criteria. it is good, but it is not an across-the-board stalwart, unlike (at least for me, at this precise moment) traffic, or the raconteurs, or the goddamn beatles.
entropy was deuterized on friday. she came home three hours post-op, pupil dilated from opiates, and sucked down a bowl of food. she and i took a nap on the sofa in the twilight, her chin resting on my arm, purring when i touched her. by that evening she was trying to jump on tables and tearing at her e-collar and being even more of a shit than usual. i was at a seminar once where the speaker repeatedly intoned "cats are made of steel." it is true. it is very fucking difficult to make a dent in a cat. they are willful, tenacious motherfuckers. like philodendron. i appreciate that.
*
a preface to my newest Action:
-i have made it a paramount goal to keep my life as stress-free as possible, since i add enough turmoil and drama to things already, simply by being me
-my savings are my reward for the purgatory of yelm, and money is to be spent, and if i die, i would rather not have any monetary value
-i prefer comfort to coming across like a moist fogged-over illegal prick
-which sounds revolting!
-therefore:
i am buying a car on wednesday. a practical car. a car with 4 doors that open. a car with a heater, cup holders, fabulous gas mileage, functional windsheild wipers, a cd player, a sunroof, a new clutch, 4 newish tires, and seats that are unfortunately upholstered with a fabric reminiscent of a mid-80s trapper keeper.
i am buying a volkswagen golf.
for a pittance!
it is used. i am not contributing to further rape of the world, the unpaid toilers, the finite resources, the evil executives. this is a (14 yr old) car that came up from california with a fucked clutch, an unwanted orphan. i am retardedly excited about having a heated vehicle, i admit. this is a big fucking deal for me.
i am keeping sweet green. she's mine, after all, and i adore her; my neighborhood is not zoned, thank fuck, so i can continue to keep her tripod-like self parked in front of my building like the darling wastrel she is. i will fuck with her come spring, when it is light for more than four hours a day, when everything is not continuously cauled in wetness and rot.
in the meantime, i will be cavorting in a brilliant turquoise marvel of latter-day german engineering. the thing hauls ass. it will be fun.
*
tomorrow i make the amtrak-trek to my parent's lair for forced gaiety. i am dreading this. a stultified unpleasant chat with my father a few nights ago made me uneasy for hours afterwards. i will be trapped there, reliant on their transport from bumfuck to the only slightly-less-bumfuck train station, for nearly 24 hours. i am anticipating the following (and if i state it, perhaps it shall not happen?):
-father being a dickhead
-mother getting drunk
-unsolicited opinions on my life, my personality, my hair, my vocation, my diet, my sociability, my health- no opinions of which will be "atta girl"
-cream- and meat-based everything
-enduring mannheim steamroller's xmas swill on the hi-fi, in a house where the thermostat is perpetually set at 68 degrees
-mother falling asleep on the sofa at 9pm
-father hauling me into the office to stand there dumbly while he shows off his thousands of mp3s, and plays them
what will i be doing to contribute to the festivities?
-sulking inwardly
-getting defensive
-helping my mother get through the bottle of wine
-smoking in their driveway and wishing i was home
-feeling unbearably self-conscious and self-critical by proxy
-turning into a shrill teenager, minus the 78 volvo to get away in
*
i fucking hate xmas.
i hate holidays.
holidays are for the families you choose, not for the families you have.
there, i said it.