:: Sunday, December 08, 2002 ::

Insomnia

I was in bed.

I got to thinking though, and that's always how it starts. I realised that it's December. Christmas is around the corner. I know what I would like this year: house stuff for Club V. You know... dishes, glassware, pots and pans. Used, mismatched, and cheap - more personality that way. I was suddenly afraid that if I didn't say something now my entire family would spend money on me, buying me things I don't really need. As much as I appreciate that it's the thought that counts, I can never shake the guilt that comes with having so many people spend money on me. So now I'm up. I have sent off an email to my parents informing them of my Christmas desires. This is stupid, of course, because I know they are on vacation until Monday. But I was rolling around in bed and I knew I wouldn't sleep until I sent it. Now I'm on here, telling the world (or the five of you that read this, but whatever) about this. Do you really care? Probably not. Is this really for your benefit? No, not really. But I can't really see exactly how writing this post is benefitting me either.

I never was good at keeping things to myself. It reminds me of the story my mom tells about me. We were having dinner at my Grandparents' house, and I was about 7 or 8. I've always been a talker, very loud and high-pitched and with excessive speed. Of course, my Grampa, who is nearly deaf, has never really been a fan of this. In any case, when I finally stopped to draw breath that night, my Grampa banged his fist on the table and shouted "Katy! Be quiet!" My Grampa rarely yelled, so I became very sad and quiet. However, as my mother tells it, within seconds I got a gleam in my little eyes. I looked up, batted my lashes at him and said, "okay... but Grampa? I have just ONE more thing to say..."

It's funny how siblings can turn out differently. I jabbered since birth. I spoke gibberish that eventually turned into pseudo-words and finally long streaming sentences. My brother, on the other hand, had to be convinced to speak. Tricked, even. Their method of teaching him bigger words:

Dad: "Hey Matt, say rhinoceros."
Matt: "Nope"
Dad: "Why not?"
Matt: "Can't"
Dad: "... hey Matt... what can't you say?"
Matt: "Can't say rhinoceros."

I was never like that. I never needed to know that I was going to say it right, because it wasn't about how I said it, it was about what I was saying. I guess in my frenzy to get out everything I was seeing and feeling, I never really learned to be concise.

I know you all think you're being discreet when you stop listening to me, but I know when I'm getting the old 'smile-and-nod'. I just can't help it sometimes. Take, for example, this entry... I know it's too long. You all think it's too long, I'm sure. But lemme tell you... this is the edited version. If only you'd seen the rough draft.

So now it's 2:30 and I really do have to work tomorrow. So I'm going to bed. Really.

Really.

(listening to: Ani Difranco - Cradle & All)

:: Katy 2:36 a.m. [+] :: ::