i was going to wake up and post something brilliant.

i reorganized my room instead. (it looks like a disaster now, but the day is calling and i must hence...).

meet back here tomorrow?

xo
meg

ferreting out friday (on monday, as it is).

i always know when i'm getting sick because i feel like i can't breathe. a constriction of air in the chest. panic. that's always where it begins. lack of breath. tightness in the chest.

{i'm be the girl lathered in vick's vapo rub even before the first grumbling of the stomach flu}. no relation. those two things have no relation. so my mind moves.

this go round it was strep. and something about sickness...it makes me so terribly lonely. suddenly i'm eight again, but there's no one there to rub my back until i fall sleep.

thus i was a miserable human being this weekend. and i'm still a bit batty--feeling like the medication should be working faster.

but a patience is a virtue. just not my virtue. {le sigh}. i'm working on it.

(so let's pretend i posted what follows last friday. we can all imagine, can't we?)...




i really like portugal. the man. (the band). so much so that i find myself trolling their facebook page and enjoying this, this, and mostly this. (don't think i haven't slept on a chocolate bar myself. i was so confused when i woke up).

seeing these guys at the bowery ballroom this week. so much has changed since i saw them last february. will be interesting to mark the passage of time while listening to their gorgeous words.

did you catch the season premiere of parks and recreation? it may or may not be true that all of my references (and best jokes) are now directly related to this show.

the kettle can wait, indeed.

happiness is...

this song is on repeat. repeat. repeat.

some version of a fall uniform, perhaps?

really craving an excuse to get dressed up.

don't know who to credit this photo to.

would very much like to as it is some

form of heaven in picture form.

to my one-day coffee cohort:

sometimes i go to call out to you. sitting in my plump reading chair with my coffee on the desk and a large bowl of oatmeal before me--flax seeds, blueberries, almonds and all. and i read something. sitting there  i come across some words that draw all the breath from my body and i stretch my arms to the sky, and my toes to the wall and there is this impulse:

babe. i want to call out. i want to turn my head to you, babe, listen to this. these words...have you ever heard anything so remarkable?


and then i remember that you're not there. and i could be sad. but i'm not. because you will be. soon enough, you will be.



love, love,

me

photo.

I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.

Brian Andreas

Story People. 

counting.

it was cool. the air was cool in coming home.

suddenly.

the promise of fall made manifest.

the streets quiet. 

me padding down the sloping hill. 

and there came a push: remember this. 

the thought leaned into me. 

remember this. this sacred time of night. this alone time. this feel of the air. this ritual that has made your life these last few years, remember this. your days by the river are numbered. these carefree days--untouched and totally afraid--are numbered.