The One... The Only... The Vieve

The Wonderful Story of The Vieve and Six More

I. The Vieve

I realized this morning that I've never written about how I got my nickname, how I became The Vieve. It was during my first year of college. I would call my friend the Poopyhead (that's another story) every week or so, and tell her my ridiculous stories of love and heartbreak and indiscretions and four straight days of puking when I had mono and so on. She would in turn tell them to her friend Kiki, who I guess enjoyed them, and who eventually started asking, "What's The Vieve gotten up to this week?" And it stuck. And I'm still the same Vieve, really, 13 years later, getting into strange situations and and weird relationships and ridiculous adventures. And though sometimes it's frustrating and maddening, it's very rarely boring, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

II. Ginormous

I just got a ginormous freelance project: 1,200 pages. The first 400 or so arrived this morning, and it looks deathly dull. It will make my head ache. Also, it means I will be incredibly busy for the next week or so, and I will probably have to work on it while I'm in California. However, it will also pay my bills for a month or more, and that trumps all discomfort and inconvenience. Hooray!

III. Grey pigtails

I was walking back from the gym this morning, coffee clutched in my hand, dried sweat streaking my face, when I passed a woman on the sidewalk. She was about 50, glasses, grey hair pulled back in pigtails. And I thought, "That's me in 20 years. Grey pigtails." And my mouth and eyes crinkled into a little smile.

IV. Broken promises

I told myself I would not bring anymore books home, at least until I had read a few of the ones I already have. But I was organizing the galleys and free "hurt books" at work yesterday and succumbed to the pull of their siren calls. Foucault's Madness and Civilization ("I do know a lot of crazy people..."); The Secret of Lost Things, by Sheridan Hay (due out in March); The Book of Lost Things, by John Connolly (I guess "lost things" is a popular theme; due out in a few weeks); and The High-Purpose Company, by Christine Arena (this one is for the Poopyhead, intrepid B-schooler; due out in January).

My unread pile is becoming a little unmanageable.

V. Halloweentown

The Nightmare Before Christmas tonight! In 3D!

VI. Old Mother Hubbard

My cupboard is bare. Time to go to Trader Joe's.

VII. Little pieces

I've been thinking lately about the people I become involved with, fascinated and infatuated with. They are lovely, smart, exciting, kind people, and I love them to pieces and always will. But most are also not so good for me, in the way I want them to be good for me, as lovers and partners. Frustrating and disappointing. But of course it makes sense, that being the rule rather than the exception. It seems obvious now, but it's taken me a while to see that. It's freeing, really, and gives me permission to excuse myself for my silly romanticism and cloudy-headed cluelessness. And permission for me to love them so anyway, despite it all.

Posted by thevieve at October 20, 2006 8:23 AM