Good strong words that mean something

So there’s this scene in Little Women, when all four sisters are lying in bed together. It’s just after Amy has fallen through the frozen pond while ice skating (arguably almost dying, had it not been for the speedy response of Jo and Laurie), and she is apologizing to Jo for being just THE WORST© (seriously, Amy March has always been my least favourite March sister and I won’t even get into the fact that she is the one that ended up with Laurie, because WHAT THE EFF right?) because she had burned her sister’s book in anger over the fact that she was too young to attend the opera with her and Meg.

Too convoluted an opener? Then you must, MUST read the book!

Or at the very least watch the movie version with Winona Ryder and Susan Sarandon. It is really bloody great.

Anyways, Amy then asks her sister, “Do you love Laurie more than you love me?” and Jo responds aghast, “I could never love anyone as I love my sisters!”

MEEP. My heart hurts just thinking about this phrase.

You see, that folks – THAT is exactly how I feel about these gals:

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My sisters are two of the most important people in my entire life, and it absolutely slays me that they live so gosh-darned far away, as this means that the majority of the time I see them is when they are looking back at me through their respective computer screens.

It also means that usually one (or both) of us is lying in bed, completely knackered after a day of racing about our respective cities, desperately trying to stay awake and concentrate on what the other one is saying.

When all I really want to be doing is sitting on a sofa with both them, drinking a glass of wine, and laughing about all the ridiculous things we do in our lives, whether together or separate.

For instance, always thinking we can recreate that scene from Little Women and sleep in the same bed together (often on Christmas eve), only to just destroy ourselves in the process of trying.

And in only one week’s time, this will be a reality!

(Hopefully sans shared bed, of course. Seriously, I also end up stuck in the middle.)

Holy crapola, I cannot wait.

I am especially excited because this Sunday I am headlining my very first comedy night, and Kate (my older sister) and her wife will be here to see it.

YEAH!

I have fifteen minutes to bring all the laughs that I possibly can.

Elsewhere on the docket, they are currently filming Supernatural pretty much right in my backyard:

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I used to get super jazzed about television and movie filming in my city, (Kate and I actually used to steal those arrow film signs you see littered about Vancouver and we’d use them to decorate our respective bedrooms. And by we, I mean she did it first, and I, as the younger sister, copied her lead) but now I’m pretty blasé about the whole thing.

It has to be a show I really, really love for me to get all shirty over something like that. (However, I’m pretty sure I would live in a perpetual state of bonkerness if Marc and I were ever to move back to the UK and put down roots in London because I would just constantly be on the lookout for all my favourite panel show comedians. Good grief.)

Oh, a this also happened:

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And finally, in but three days I will be on vacation until the 6th of January.

During that time I will be doing nothing save running, eating, laughing, writing, reading, sleeping, and spending all of the time with all the beautiful, magical, brilliant loves of my life.

I so very much hope that all of you will be doing much of the same.

Show and tell

About two weeks ago I posted the first part of a writing piece that I am currently working on, about which I am rather excited.

Quoth the kitten...

So may I present to you, dear readers, part two:

For a split second I think Tom is going to hit me. I blush from a mix of excitement and fear. 

He’s never done it before, but there is a moment when his body pulses and his jaw clenches and I half expect his wrath, and his exasperation, and his exhaustion to just wash over me; to just wash me away.  

Instead he picks up my economics text lying next to me on the counter.  His fingers scratch its stringy, yellow spine before launching it across the living room.

“What is wrong with you?” I yell before I can stop myself.

I run over to my book. My footstep are swallowed by the other overturned texts that liter the floor.

In silence, Tom strides over to the water closet and punches his fist through the door.

Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself. 

Breathe, breathe I whisper to Tom. 

I hope no one has heard us.

Tom is staring at his shaking fist, dazed. He looks up and takes a tentative step towards me.

“Coming to finish them off?” I challenge, waving to the other books lying to my right and left.

He stops. It is his turn to blush. 

“I’m sorry.  Marja.  I am.  I just. I just can’t afford to do anything about this.” 

I look back down and I can hear him return to the kitchen.  He pours water into a mug. 

“If it makes you feel any better I’ll go see Gdancic tomorrow about it on my break.”  He says, as he walks over to me, almost on tiptoes, like a seesaw. 

His knees crack as he folds his legs into a squat.  Taking the book from my hands he passes me the mug. 

“I can’t believe I threw your book.  I’m really, really sorry.” 

I sip and pause.  He kisses the edge of my right eyebrow. 

I sip.

And pause.

“It’s okay.”  I kiss the corner of his mouth.  “But it’s only okay if you do something about your hand.”

Tom lets out a long sigh.

We sit in silence.

“Okay. I will. But I can’t do anything much until I’ve finished this project.  If I get a shot, I’ll lose all the information…”  He trails off. 

“What?”  I ask.  Tom quickly puts a finger over his lips, telling me to be quiet.  His eyes move in the direction of the balcony. 

I look.

Outside of the patio door a thick rubber caterpillar is inching its way up the pane.  A small green light blinks from the top.  I’ve never before seen one if my life. 

Only on posters and backlit billboards. 

“Oh God.”  I almost drop the water.  Three drops dot the cover of my scrambler and I can’t even bring myself to wipe them away.  Tom inches closer to me, his backside scratching the carpet so much that when his fingers touch mine an electric current runs up my right arm, and settles, tingling, behind my eyes. 

“Did you do anything?” He whispers.

My breath stalls, thick against my neck.

“No.  Nothing.”  I bit my lip so hard, I can taste blood against at the tip of my mouth.  “Tonight’s repaving was only about two blocks away.  It’s probably just easier to take someone from the neighborhood.” 

I don’t turn my head in his direction. 

“Marja.”  I feel the reassuring weight of his hand on the small of my back.  We watch as the blinking green light disappears, inching its way up to the next floor.

We wait.

And then silently, we rise. 

Tom teeters over to the hall closet.  The shrill squeak of the door on its last hinge seems to echo around the apartment. 

Tom freezes.  I freeze.

“What?” I whisper. 

Tom shakes his head and mouths an apology.  “Nothing.” He whispers back.  “That just really freaked me out.”

“The caterpillar?”

“No.”  He shakes his head.  “The sound of this stupid closet!”

I can’t help but smile; my heart beats a little slower and I move towards him.

The blast comes so quickly I don’t even have time to reach for my helmet. 

And the dark crashes over me, like a ravenous wave. Too eager, it swallows us whole.