"Some calls it madness...I calls it HiDeeHo." - Cab Calloway
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Friday, December 20, 2002


It's come to this. I'll go now, but leave you with this: My Hobbitish name is Dimple Underhill of Frogmorton, Elvish is Nienna Telemmaitë, dwarfish Gorin Claylegs, and were I an orc, you could call me Bôrgob the Despoiler. According to another quiz without code for a picture, I'm most like Gandalf. Well...I don't know if I agree with that, but...


See which Greek Goddess you are.

Have a good Alban Arthuan, everyone.

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/20/2002 05:54:00 PM

Thursday, December 19, 2002


...that Julie's last day with MedQuist was upon her. So it goes. I'll be packing up and shipping out tomorrow, and will only be online as and when I find time to run to the library.

I've read all four Harry Potter books in like two weeks and wish I had read them sooner. I've blown my way through Planetary. I started my turning-of-the-moon-solstice fast early. I'm feeling very introspective and witchy right now, as though I should have involuted at Samhain and not come out until Saturday, feather-light with wisdom and diamond-bright with my reclaimed zhwahd-vieve (no, I will never spell it right on purpose).

Since it seems I am talking to myself at the moment, I'll say a few more things that are on my mind about Josh, having just had my second thrice-weekly Pookafication. I am still convinced that I knew him from somewhere. It sounds awfully pretentious and cheesy to claim past lives, but seeing him (sure, and he looks more Irish wit' every passin' year) triggers something in my memory that had lain dormant for 28 years. My powers of intention and observation have increased exponentially since becoming involved with him. My ability to snatch inspiration out of thin air has increased. The sine-wave roller coaster of hormones and lack of exposure to sunlight is more like surfing than drowning; to be sure, the grow-light from my mom has something to do with that, but Josh has his own portable sun to share.

My dark moods are soul-sucking whirlpools of suffocating despair. The knowledge that I have the antidote close at hand and a recharge for my batteries is more than holy, more than sacred. I've had it in me all along, untapped and inaccessible no longer.

The child born at the dark tide of the year, as the sun itself is pushed farthest back and yet returns, shall be a living testimony to the endurance of hope within despair, of life within death, of the glowing ember beneath the ashen gray waiting to be blown back into blazing glory.

I just spent the last 20 minutes surfing for phr33 pr0n.

Crazy poison women, one and all.

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/19/2002 03:42:00 PM

Wednesday, December 18, 2002


Well, it took five tries, but it finally happened. Josh beat me at Scrabble, 262 to 208. My last two letters were, however, a defiant "F U."

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/18/2002 11:28:00 PM


Ah, respite of spring in the seeming dead of winter. Apocalyptic red-orange sky in the west, delicate cerulean in the east, a half-formed rainbow between, now shading down to just violet and pink...the local high topped 55 degrees today. It rained a blessing and it rained a curtain of secrets.

Mighty thanks to the visiting eminence of Monday night's dream, Force of Seasonal Change, for this teaser.

Fasting now, from the rising and turning of the full moon (4:43 pm CST tomorrow) until after the solstice (as previously mentioned, 7:14 pm CST Saturday). I will plumb the depths of this mystery they call...weather.

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/18/2002 04:27:00 PM


From The Onion horoscopes:
You will be bemused and bewildered to discover that you are mentioned in the creation myths of three-fourths of the world's cultures.

Well, hell. Anyone want to run Nobilis?

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/18/2002 07:51:00 AM

Tuesday, December 17, 2002


What's the difference between a Punk and a Goth?

A Goth will stand on the edge of a cliff, wondering what it would feel like to jump, and a Punk's the guy who comes by and pushes her.

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/17/2002 11:22:00 PM


WARNING: Julie's showing her weakness and channeling mythic spirits again. No surrealism in this passage, this is all straightforward. Another of those, "So what's she up to now?" entries. This is a journal, after all. What I'm up to is missing Josh.

NOW, ON WITH THE SHOW! Put the virtual model me in a ragged old green terrycloth bathrobe and sit her down in front of her wizzy-box. Just out of the shower, a dark shower because the light switch went pop and maintenance has to come and have a look; hair also dark and disheveled, without even a trace of cosmetic or perfume, only a rapidly evaporating layer of lotion between my face and the scratchy air. Glass of mango-peach-orange-lime juice at my side and the remains of a croissant near to that. Pining. Thinking.

The mushy-gushy romance of below has given way overnight to melancholy longing. It's going to be a whole day and a half again before I can see Josh, and that's too long. Waaaay too long. I recall back in summer talking to him maybe for an hour at night, a few times a week. Now morning, afternoon and night are not enough. We call each other just to hear each other's voices. I start missing him the minute he walks out the door. Of a Saturday morning, I sit huddled in with the kiddies to hear his stories and sing along and do the action rhymes, while most of the other parents are hovering around the edges or even in the cafe. I am loathe to leave the corporate monstrosity bookstore. I bring him candy and sneak kisses to him behind his bosses' backs. Morgan giggles at us, how silly we can be. You have to be pretty silly to have an almost-6-year-old tee-heeing at you.

It's been about 5-1/2 months now. We're still in the nouveau phase, to be sure. Is it normal for things to get more and more intense as time passes? I didn't think so. I tell you, family and friends of us both, in all my life and 13+ years of crushes, serious boyfriends, fiancees and even a husband, no one has hit me like such a ton of rose petals and moonlight and substantial down-to-earth hope as my Pooka has.

So what is it this time? The great clanging gonging emptiness when he's away? The amazing ability he has to get me to laugh at any inopportune time, playing the Queen's personal jester? The sheer amount of experience and knowledge hidden under the spiked-up hair? The fact that when we are locked into something even as simple as a light kiss or a brief hug, the dragon lines shift and converge upon us as though we are the source of all magickal and physical energy on the earth, and anything more intense than that changes the Van Allen belts and makes compasses go astray? All of the above and a million other things.

Now, in the process of getting all this down, my mood has shifted back. Ah...

Come spring, I'll round up all the returning cranes and blackbirds and robins and orioles and goldfinches and have them serenade over Oakland, over 76th Street, over Eastern Trail. Sorrel and Anemones and Veronicas will spring up under your feet. The rivers will burble more cheerfully over their beds should you come near. The entire chorus of life and light and heat returning to my corner of the world, the marshes and mixed new-growth forest and prairie, will be dedicated to you, my Pooka, mo chroi, my partner in crime and play; you, who are brave enough to parent one who has lost two fathers and wants none other but you now, are evermore the sun to my moon and the caster of my shadows.

Note: This was inspired by an incredibly intense and powerful dream. You know the kind, where you feel as though you've been visited by powers far greater than mere constructs of gods, and you wake up feeling shaken and sad that said powers have left upon your awakening? Yeah. One of those.

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/17/2002 09:25:00 AM

Monday, December 16, 2002


I seem to be all out of imagery and metaphor, yet have the urge to express; thus, this offering from Sidney Lanier, which conveys what I want to say -

Look off, dear love, across the sallow sands,
And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea;
How long they kiss in sight of all the lands,
Ah! longer, longer we.

Now, in the sea's red vintage melts the sun
As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine
And Cleopatra-night drinks all- 'tis done,
Love, lay thine hand in mine.

Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart,
Glimmer, ye waves, 'round else unlighted sands;
Oh night! divorce our sun and sky apart-
Never our lips, our hands.

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/16/2002 09:55:00 PM


...for a filler "What's Julie Doing?" type of post.

First of all, I'm listening to the first compilation CD Josh ever made for me. The song "Crystal Days" by Echo and the Bunnymen just faded out and now the samba "Sonho Meu" is on. It's amazing how, if you close your eyes and just listen to a song, you can be instantly transported back in time to when that song became part of your mental repetoire.

Morgan is visiting my mom today, so I have the afternoon to myself. I have cookies to make and budgets to fuss with. I have more comics to read and another Harry Potter book to devour.

The sky is milky pinkish-bluish-grey and the wind is bitter, but carries the scent of woodsmoke and frozen pine. Twittering flocks of chickadees hang about in the hedges. Salt frosts the asphalt. Such is the snowless winter in rural southeastern Wisconsin.

We are SO CLOSE to the turning of the season, I can feel it. The stasis is nearly complete. At 7:14 pm CST on 12/21, the solstice will occur, and the darkness will have won for only a moment. In that moment, I'll sit still in the knowledge that the darkness lives within all of us beyond and underneath the frenetic pace of human life in midwinter. The triumph of dark and cold is transitory and temporary. At that point when it seems the light and heat will never return, the sun, the greatest heat and light we know, is slowly slowly returning to us.

posted by Julie Neff  # 12/16/2002 01:16:00 PM


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