Thursday, September 13, 2012


Wall. Woo! We are there.

Holy crap with your super-typhoon. And I want to know more about your shoulders’ journey toward your shrinking neck, although I can appreciate that you’re in it, you’re there, you’re living it. So can it really be processed just yet. We’re not to the end of a thread. But I love that you’re also at the beginning of a thread with a new and male flatmate. What will that be like. The fact alone that it’s your third flatmate. Every three months like clockwork? I’m just saying.

So anyway, honestly my favorite part of this whole week was handbells. Do I know what I’m doing? No. But will I someday? I feel like I will yes, and I can’t want for you to visit and I’ll totally play for you, or at least show you the sunny wood-floored room where we practice. With the padded tables that dampen the sound. Cathy said it was very Star’s Hollow of me to join and I’m going with that. And now I feel like my church might actually be Star’s Hollow, but I haven’t worked out the entire cast of characters yet. And it would be better if I could walk there and daily meander the streets. But otherwise? Handbells! Holla.

Everything else this whole week has stressed me out. J.Lo and his nasty, inconveniently timed as always cold. The library came together in a wave of franticness, and then hardly anyone showed up. And only one book sold. But maybe more will sell on Sunday when I’m not there, who knows. I’m not worried about it, except for the whole having to haul several boxes of un-bought books at some point to Goodwill, when they could have sold and supported the library but whatever.

And also in a wave of franticness I finished tagging the approximate shit-ton of children’s things for the consignment sale. Now I’m clasping my hands, blowing on the dice and saying, Come on, Christmas money baby. Because that would be good.

Also, instead of weepily throwing the money away I figured out that I can sneakily divert some topics to next week and not give them all up after all. Because sorry but seven days is not long enough to write 10 articles, even if I had nothing else going on. Besides that those children, all three of them, are high maintenance! And I’ve already made a tiny pile of dough. Tiny, but significant somehow. The key voice element for this assignment is, magically, snark. I know. I was taken aback too. At my luck. Also bewildered that most of the writers on the board are like, wha? Snark? What is that. I’m like oh I’ve got this.  Totesies…

I’m still, embarrassingly, watching ANTM, because in spite of it all, the JaysAndNigel-less-ness,  it’s still good as a marathon once you accumulate a backlog. And here I am drinking wine and watching the latest ProRun, in real time, mainly because I can. Because J.Lo is out watching a football game at a place with a friend. (Yay. Friend!) And hi Mondo! my favorite designer EVer. And maybe I should at least sort out what I can finish writing tomorrow. If I get a chance. And how I can buy more time to complete the others. This is what it’s like when you’re starving, and everyone else is also starving, and you catch site of a few crumbs. You obsess, you plot, you hoard. And you claim little victories while you can, knowing the crumb supply won’t by its very nature last.

love you. may the super-typhoon hit at exactly the right time with exactly the right punch, which is to say that it will be exciting and school-canceling, but not disastrous. that’s the best approach to a nature event I feel. I’d say wear one white sock like you’re egging on a snowstorm, but maybe it would work better with a blue sock?


love to youuu.

p.s. I love your postcards. that’s random because it’s been awhile. but I do love them. they are happy random surprises in my mailbox and an entirely separate but related conversation with you somehow.

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