i spilled coffee on my laptop last week--on the keys. and in an attempt to dry it up before it reached the...well, whatever it is that it reaches before the computer stops working, i pulled out my hairdryer.
i melted the shift key. the ctrl key now sticks.
i'm a disaster.
{most days, i'm a disaster}.
i'm the girl who spills coffee on her laptop. i wish i wasn't but i am. (and i can say that now because it's not the first time it's happened). i'm terribly judgmental and i complain. all the time, i complain. and i second guess and doubt--i'm a veritable whirling dervish of insecurities.
but i am funny. every once in a while, when you least expect it, i make a good joke--a mouthful of a joke that'll make your cheeks hurt and your eyes burn.
i want to grow vegetables in the backyard. i want to go to the farmer's market every saturday. i want our children to grow up in the kitchen--surrounded by whole grains and colorful fruit and ice cream we make in the cuisinardt. that's not too much to ask is it?
you do know i'm going to be that crazy mom who doesn't allow refined sugar in the house (or at least holds off for as long as possible). i'll be the mom making vegan cookies for the bake sale and packing brown sack lunches with zucchini fries and raw-goat-cheese pizza.
i don't have a mind for dates or numbers. i'll forget all that stuff. or confuse it. or wake one morning and realize the trip i've been planning for several months was off by two days. and so there will be a mad shuffle as flights are rearranged and work is rearranged and the whole thing will be so ridiculous all we'll be able to do is laugh. because it's small fries. that stuff is small fries. i'll remember the good stuff: where we went on our first date and what we ate and your shoes, too. i'll remember your shoes.
it's gonna be a hard life. because life is hard. but it'll be really worth-it. i promise you that--i promise the worth.
and i promise you the attempt. the attempt to be good. and the attempt to be kind. to not worry so much. to not care what others think. to not complain at every turn. the attempt at humor--always, the attempt at a joke.
i promise you the space between perfection and utter chaos. the marrow of life--that'll be my gift to you.
me
saturday morning movie date
i believe in crying the way most people believe in exercise.
that it should be engaged in often and that it's essential for the health of the body.
i'm in need of a cry. a good cry, a solid cry. i'm not terribly sure why, all i know is i can feel my body calling out for it.
usually when this happens there's a backlog of tears and i never find the release until that fated moment when i hit the top of my head on the underside of the bathroom's standing sink. it doesn't hurt much--it never does--but it results in pretty substantial heaves and me crumpled despairingly against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. (i've lived a life on that bathroom floor).
to prevent this i'm taking myself to the movies this morning. a date! for (with) myself! i've indulged in a medium soy chai latte (fear of soy and sugar be damned today!). a six dollar movie ticket, a cool, dark theatre, and a space in which to silently water my soul? huzzah! (does that sound dramatic and cliche? that watering of the soul? oh but it is! this is all serious and important work i'm going about.)
alright, must be off, i'll let you know how it goes.
image credit: unknown
(if anyone does know who
this is by please comment below).
week of july 23 - july 29.
this is the week i spent more time waiting for the subway to arrive than actually riding it.
the week i rearranged my room and brought fresh lavender into my home to keep myself calm.
the week my aunt and i sat in yankee stadium eating ice cream (me) and drinking beer (her) while waiting out a rain delay. the week i cut bangs and painted my toenails red.
in quotes
to live in this world, you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal:
to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
mary oliver
the hudson (from where i sleep)
in my manhattan, NYC
i have a skewed sense of money. i'll pay four bucks for a cup of coffee with only the slightest twinge of regret, but i absolutely refuse to leave the refrigerator door open for one second longer than necessary. don't get me started on running a half-empty dishwasher--i feel bad enough running the full one.
and then there's air conditioning. my guilt at turning on the small window unit in my room knows no bounds.
my stomach is in knots just thinking about it. actually, come to think of it, my stomach may be in knots because i just broke one of the keys on my brand-spankin'-new-macbook-air...sigh. kerfuffle. splat. {feeling like a bit of a disaster today. most days, really}.
but that's another story for another day.
back to the air conditioner.
when new york got hot this summer and the heat rash broke out on my stomach i swallowed my guilt and started pressing that glorious little button of that cooling machine. at first i'd pull my reading chair right up to it and let it blow over my face. i'd close the doors to my room and create a little ice box: air conditioner, fan, closed windows, closed doors, and me in the corner--a greedy little kid stealing cool air from the pantry and hoping not to be caught.
from there my idea of it expanded. i'd turn it on and walk about the room, unapologetically. i even took to sleeping with it on at night (though usually i'd wake sometime just after three to turn it off in a half-wake/half-sleep/half-guilt stupor.
and then new york got hotter. and these old buildings--these buildings that have seen it all and tell countless stories began to take that heat on and in and i started to lose my mind.
and just as the mind went, clarity arrived (go figure). why not move my bed as close to the window unit as possible? why not switch my room around for the sake of the practical.
when i took this room--this room with two separate window looking out over the hudson--i knew one thing: my desk would sit between those windows. and mornings would be spent there with coffee in hand taking in the water's gleam and getting work done.
from there i arranged the bed. the bookcase. the dresser. and it was just right. just as it should be.
but having flipped the room, for the sake of the practical, well, i can see the hudson and the green of the palisades when i wake in the morning (from my bed). gone is the image of the red building across the way--a building who's facade i loved and was always glad to greet upon rising. turns out river and trees trump red brick, every time (go figure).
i'm not sure why i'm writing about this this morning. i think because there's a metaphor in it.
i didn't want to move my bed. i thought it was in the perfect spot. but i did because i knew i'd be cooler at night. turns out, the air conditioning isn't even what i most love about the shift. it's the view. the view i least expected. the view that i'm not quite sure how i didn't work out months ago was best seen from this position.
my mind is in a fog this morning. what i'm getting at (and what i need to take away) is that shifting one's perspective can illuminate a lot more than you bargained for.
hmph. something like that. and because i always like seeing people's space and home and such, i give you some of mine:
