Monday, January 31, 2011
But I saw this heart-shaped puddle this morning -- a brew of filth and smelly water next to a cigarette butt. If you don't think about it that way, it's kinda nice. I suppose I could have saved it for a Valentine's Day post, but, come one, do you see me doing one of those?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
I'm gonna go with that as the reason that hill was so hard to climb.
Appropriately, I heard a joke this evening by comedian Demetri Martin that went something like "Hiking is really just walking, in a place that's OK to pee."
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Anyway, that whining aside, the full moon from last night greeted me as I walked to carpool. It was so perfect; it looked hung there.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Like with many aspects of our lives, we tend to make up what isn't explained to make ourselves feel better, make it all bearable. "I'll meet my dearly departed loved ones on the other side when I die," for instance. How about some a little less serious like, "My pets are always at the door when I come home. They miss me and want to greet me." I want to believe that. Rather, my heart wants to believe that, but I know it's not true. The quality of light outside probably signals my return home and the front door happens to be close to the kitchen, which is where their food is kept. They approach me for pets because they like their heads rubbed. They don't care about my day.
What's a bit much though is when one of them literally bites the hand that feeds them (not while it's feeding them, fortunately), and then minutes later yaks it up all over the carpet in a 12-inch by 3-inch stripe. That just seems mean-spirited.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
As I was telling a friend over brunch today, perhaps just the fact that I sent out the story to 17 places was enough of an accomplishment. If do get seventeen rejections, I think it's safe to say I should archive that story and move on.
That's OK. I have my day job.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
At the post-work coffee reward, I catch a glimpse of myself in the cafe window: meandering hobo, the glimpse reveals. I didn't dare remove my knit cap inside, the warm sweet air clashing with our loamy grassy air. The coffee is strong and even cream and spoonfuls of brown sugar can't tame it.
The weeds I pulled will probably return, and spread. Undoing the work I did. But that's what weeds do, I suppose. That's their purpose.