Dita Parker

Saturday, February 25, 2012

What's eating Dita Parker

Dear Diary, 

She's still ignoring me. My maker. She's been ignoring me all week. I never asked her to spend a winter break with me, did I? Oh. I did. Repeatedly. Okay. What-ev-er. I know I serve at her pleasure. Still, I feel left out. I know she didn't have a family so she could escape them every chance she got. Still, I envy them right now and wonder why she created me. I knew there would be days like this. She said there would be. Still, it pisses me off she'll never exist for me and me alone.

I try to understand, I really do. I do understand. Still, when she sneaks into the den late at night, it feels like a secret rendezvous. And when she leaves, all too soon, I feel jilted. I tempt her with WIPs, remind her of the fun we have, of the satisfaction only I can bring. And how does she repay me? She takes notes and then she denies me. "Not now. One thing at a time. All in good time." "When?" I want to scream after her. But I sense her frustration. At the pace things are moving, in what lifetime will I have time for that, she's thinking.

Maybe I'm being punished. Maybe this is a punishment. Because I remind her. I remind of her of that back office stuff. I know she expected all sorts of things to happen. I know she never expected this. I know she wants this, but not at any price. And it frightens me, what she's thinking. It's a matter of principle. A matter of trust. I know she won't forget. I feel her helplessness and I almost, almost feel sorry for her.

Wait. What? She thinks she can make me forget about everything just by making me feel for her? Does she expect me to welcome her with open arms on Monday just because she's feeling bad? What am I? Miss Understanding? Hah. I'm a person, not her plaything. I'm not going to be like the rest of the writers in her. I'm not going to kiss up to her just because she's feeling sad. Do they make her laugh like I do? Okay, so they don't make her mad. What-ev-er. She needs me. She needs me and she'd better not forget it. And if she doesn't start treating me better, I'm leaving her. For good.

Yeah. That's what I'm telling her first thing Monday morning. That I'm on vacation. Winter break. Pff. Without me...she still exists. Without her, I...  Better sleep on it first. See how I feel about it tomorrow. It's not as if she has given up on me. I know she hasn't. Because just when I start to feel I've lost her to the world, she turns those lion eyes on me, and I freeze. "Don't give up on me," she mouths. And she blows me a kiss and skates away and I forgive and try to forget and I try to remember that if I don't believe in her as she believes in me then there's no hope for us.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Dancing in the dark

Temperature: -5/23

Eating: lime curd on biscotti

Drinking: Café Pilão

Watching: The Secret World of Arrietty later tonight 

Listening: to the sambas de enredo 2012

Reading: a letter. An honest to God, written on paper, longhand, letter.

Writing: back

Feeling: missing the Dendê Coast. And the Coconut Coast. Salvador. Meu amor. Bahia. Hey, it's Carnaval season.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

The Ballad of Saint Valentine

It weren't for lack of faith
Or the sweet bye and bye
For love's sake and love alone
Bishop Valentine would die

I am the higher law, the Emperor
You will bow to I and only I
Who dares go against me?
Bishop Valentine must die

To Valentinus man's greatest strength
To the Emperor a weakness, a lie
For his beliefs and his blessings
Bishop Valentine did die

Hate be no match for dogged hope
A roar for a lover's sigh 
For those who still believe
Saint Valentine won't die

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Postcards from the edge

Hope you're all well. I'm sick again, can you believe it? Got a month's respite and I'm glad no one else in the family is down for the count, but seriously, again? Yeah yeah yeah, not resting enough, don't be like Dad, I get it.
Get the save the date mails? K and M are getting married! I know!! Why now, after all this time? Still, it's nice, isn't it? And our favorite hellion turns forty, can you believe it? God, she's as crazy as she was when she turned twenty and she will be absolutely beyond redemption by sixty. Good times ahead. Ü

So the Green League candidate for president didn't win. This time around. His 'handicap', because that's how some saw it: he's
a man living in a registered partnership with another man. Oh but it was quite the final sprint. What we do have is a generation of kids getting used to the idea that a man can be president, and I think that's pretty awesome. No, I don't want to hear about Indecision 2012. Keep 'em. All of them.

Crossed paths with He-Man Woman Hater the other day. Yeah,
him. He did what he always does, put up a polite front but as you know, you don't have to scratch the surface much to bring out the Taliban inside. I did what I always do, waited for the provocation, wanting to knock him out, did the verbal duel instead. Is it twisted to almost enjoy those bouts, because he can't be totally impervious even if he is a total idiot? Is it twisted to feel sorry for him even if he is a total idiot, because he seems deeply unhappy?

Hear any good songs lately? Are the stars aligned funny or something because I haven't been able to listen to anything much this week? Everything has such a pronounced effect on me right now it's ridiculous. You still write to music? I could never. I would get caught up in the lyrics, or the melody. Got to love the arts though. Balm to the soul.

That matter still not resolved STOP Feeling extremely small and incredibly stupid STOP Only
you can make yourself feel that way so just stop, you say? STOP Not the case in this case so I don't know how to stop it STOP No news regarding the submission but you'll be the first to know so stop asking STOP

Meet me in Lisbon in September? K and P will be there! Promise to give it a think. You've never had such fun with anyone else. Never. Had. Such. Fun. 

Since you're the king of weird dreams, analyze this: I was on a ferry from Holyhead to Dublin among a multitude of nationalities. I lost my purse (my fav). Checked the time to find my watch (the watch, with the engraving) had turned into a fugly plastic digital thing. The dream turned positively Kafkaesque, the ferry turning into a frickin' Flying Dutchman. I couldn't disembark until I could prove who I was.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Drummers do it with perfect timing

Temperature: a sunny -15/5 degrees

Eating: Caesar salad

Drinking: Gefilus cultured buttermilk. My stomach loves that stuff. Loves.

Watching: see below

Listening: to Hubby drumming on his new kit

Reading: RD to the kids. Not Roald Dahl. Roddy Doyle.

Writing: you bet

Feeling: You really wanna know or are you just making conversation?