I heard a (hip young) undertaker on Fresh Air today talking about cremation and embalming and death rituals and all that fun stuff, and it occurred to me that I am in my thirties and I have procreated and yet I still have not put on paper my wishes in the event of my untimely death, which is getting more and more statistically probable with every new day I draw breath. What am I waiting…
Write something. Write write write something. Anything. Use words to conjure up pictures in other people’s heads and yes maybe even your own. Stop asking why. You know why. You have to do it. It’s as much an instinct for you as blinking and breathing are. Can you imagine how awful it would be if one day you woke up and you couldn’t muster the energy to blink or breathe anymore? Your eyeballs would shrivel…
Tonight I was leaving work and taking the stairs because the elevator is out, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the stairwell window. And I was sort of taken aback by the sight of myself — my hair is long, suddenly; I’m in long sleeves, suddenly; I wear glasses, suddenly, except I have for so very long now and have yet to get used to the idea — and the sight made me happy…
I forgot all about “King of Limbs” until I accidentally played it the other day and now it’s all I want.
Football, You Middle-Class Folks to Whom No Specific Class, Sex or Race Can Be Assigned A tab devoted to (insanely inferior) American football, obviously The Self-Loathing Southerner A section in which every Southern comfort is given its slow and painful comeuppance because we hate everything about being Southern, except the righteous indignation that comes from being forever an underdog Grass to Mouth A section devoted to locally sourced foodstuffs Pith in the Whinge A blog…
We used to gaze at each other for hours, lit by curiosity and liquid crystal. Forgive me for bringing this up so suddenly. I know it’s been a while. It’s just that tonight on the drive home I got to thinking about the times we shared, and how I discovered so much of myself through you, with you. And how much I pine for those days. They were simpler. We were learning so much so…
“What the Living Do” by Marie Howe Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of. It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too…
You know how you pick up a bad habit and at first it feels awesome, and you’re like, “Why did I not start doing this earlier?!?” and you want to do it all the time, and you begin to redefine who you are based in part on the fact that you are now a participant in this particular bad habit and what that means for you, practically and philosophically. And then eventually you start feeling…
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