misshapen hyperspace medley

to the best day ever.

{workday love letter}

Charles says it's his best, but really it's mine and my privilege.  (<--Appropriation really is fun for everyone!)

He locked his keys in the car yesterday, which I drove two hours in a fury to undo.  I felt waves of frustration pour over me since the sneaky hate spiral had clearly won, and my marital discord continued.

But this morning I woke up and remembered how he is outlandishly kind and caring most every moment;  how we get to start each day anew; how I'm always discovering things and seeing life differently with him.

Most of all how, even when it's hard, it's incredible.

{probably a better partner than yesterday-me}

{happy non-awkward-hands birthday wishes, love}

Be beside me somewhere: on the split stools of this bar, by the edge of this cliff, in the seats of this borrowed car, at the prow of this ship, on the all-forgiving cushions of this thread-bare sofa in the one-story copper-crying fixer-upper whose windows we once squinted through for hours before coming to our sense: “What would we even do with such a house?”

-JSF, published in The New Yorker, June 14, 2010, p.72, {link}

I was well on my way...

... to a sneaky hate spiral today.

Seriously.  Uno.  Husband and I are spatting, which is crummy and leaving me feeling totally drained.  It's not even a big spat - but I am le tired.

Dos. I leave my work badge at my house.  I realize this the moment that the bus approaches, so there is no turning back.  I'm headed in mega-early, so I know there's not going to be anyone at the office to let me in.

Entonces - Transit card begins making crazy-ass noises, throwing both myself and the bus driver into a state of confusion - I think there's not enough funds so I start to add money.  Lots of grabbing, shuffling and balancing my three bags that I'm carrying.  (Don't judge me!  I like having a big lunch.)  Then maybe, in actuality, I already paid?  (So the bus driver and I discuss.)  Who knows?!  Okay, we agree. It's fine; move on. I head to take my seat on a very empty bus.

Sigh of morning-misanthropy-induced relief!  Finally a break.

I delve into my book for a moment or two, and then I hear something behind me.

Empieza: flood of anxiety that I have to talk to someone.

¡Pero!  I turn and realize it's my super-sweet bus-friend.  We chat for a while, and it makes me feel even better.  I'm getting a handle on this sneaky hate spiral!

"Wahahaha!" cackles sneaky hate spiral.  Said-sweet-bus-friend gets off.  All hell breaks loose.

Newsflash: The bus doesn't have heat.  I find myself thinking, 'well, hey, it's crowded so we're fine.'  Five minutes pass as we chug along and the driver realizes, 'Hark!  It is not okay.  This self-produced body-heat won't cut it for the esteemed MTA standards.'

Pues - We commence sitting there, parked. For thirty minutes.  Waiting...waiting for another bus.   The bus is getting cold!  It's not moving anymore and we're not moving anymore. Grumble grumble.

¿Poorque? Sneaky hate spiral?!

But then.  It's time to switch.  And right before, I noticed there's a growing sense of 'holymother! -What-the-what?!' camaraderie established between all bus-mates.  Bonding commences.  And - it helps!

Example in -quote-form:
As we're switching from our broken-down bus to the fixed one (which will surely be full), guy says to (who I assume to be his) pregnant girlfriend: "J, let yo stomach hang out so that you're sure to get a seat."

They know I heard them and we all sort of catch a smile and muffle slight laughter.

Then, I was the last to switch buses because I was succumbing to the hate-spiral's victory, so I'm standing, and a 15 year old kid glances at me, stands up, and offers me his seat.

"Holymother! (Again!)," I'm thinking.  There is still so much kindness and consideration in the world.  (<-- Sounds trite, but it is not. Emphatically!) *Also, please note that I share in some of this remaining sense-of-decency and thanked the kiddo for the offer, but did not take the seat.  Had I done otherwise, I would have been 'that woman,' sitting comfortably with her over-sized lunch nestled at her feet, while forcing the young, kindhearted soul to juggle his overly-large textbooks which are teacher-induced, as opposed to my hunger/glutton-induced baggage.

Eat that! Sneaky-hate spiral!

Lastly, a gem.  One woman gets on the bus about five stops after most of us have undergone this fiasco.  (So there are many-a long face.)  She yell-talks (literally):
"GOOOD MORNING!..SHHIT! What's wrong with y'all?!"

And now I'm sitting at Caribou, sipping on coffee, the situation is, yet-again, temporarily ameliorated.

Record so far:

Sneaky-hate spiral: 3  (badge, transit card, bus breakdown) Ellie: 3 (bus-friend, new bus-friends, coffee)

..> And ready for whatever's next

1 day: 2 blog posts is to 1 manual-writing project:: welcoming a plethora of distractions

Proof.

I was never very good at creating analogies in elementary school, middle school, high school, college or last week.

But, I do have an eye for quality analogies developed by others.

Case and point:

Lowe's : Muslims

FAO Schwarz :: Nine-year-olds

This nugget of knowledge originated from Aasif Mandvi of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.  

Le sigh.  It's a highlight of both the awesomeness and drudgery of our culture, when a political comedy show is the source of some of the most penetrating commentary on the fissures of our political system (and American culture and society as a whole).  Case and point (take 2):  This segment from last night's show. And this one. Oh, and also, this.

Clips like this are moments of Jon Stewart and the Daily Show staff at their finest.

{Another example}

Cease: link inundation.... now.

Loook what I can do - part 2!

For a 'Crafternoon':
1. Yarn-wreath.   P
2. Paperback-book Christmas trees.  P
3.  Earring holder(s).

Two down - one to go.

{I know it looks doubtful, but just wait!}

...but wait! There's more.

An unexpected foray into book stacking!  My brilliant friend, Seren, came up with this gem of an idea.  I had a blast constructing and crafting the night away with her.

(Oy vey - the previous sentence made me feel like a domesticity queen.)

4.  Christmas (v. holiday) tree o' books.  (An unexpected craft-task(tic) sneaks onto the list!) P

{voila! c'est magnifique!}

{partner in craft-crime}

Today I'm thankful for...

...the beauty and the horror that is the 'shitty first draft.'

God bless 'em.


Now, practically even better news than that of short assignments is the idea of 
shitty first drafts. All good writers write them. This is how they end up with good 
second drafts and terrific third drafts. People tend to look at successful writers who 
are getting their books published and maybe even doing well financially and think 
that they sit down at their desks every morning feeling like a million dollars, feeling 
great about who they are and how much talent they have and what a great story they 
have to tell; that they take in a few deep breaths, push back their sleeves, roll their 
necks a few times to get all the cricks out, and dive in, typing fully formed passages 
as fast as a court reporter. But this is just the fantasy of the uninitiated. I know some 
very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal 
of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and 
confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts. All right, one of them does, but 
we do not like her very much. We do not think that she has a rich inner life or that 
God likes her or can even stand her. (Although when I mentioned this to my priest 
friend Tom, he said you can safely assume you've created God in your own image 
when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.) 

...

Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start 

somewhere. Start by getting something -- anything -- down on paper. A friend of 

mine says that the first draft is the down draft -- you just get it down. The second 

draft is the up draft -- you fix it up. You try to say what you have to say more 

accurately. And the third draft is the dental draft, where you check every tooth, to 

see if it's loose or cramped or decayed, or even, God help us, healthy.  

from the Chapter 'Shitty First Drafts' via the book Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

Laceration licking

a year from now we'll all be gone

all our friends will move away

and they're going to better places

but our friends will be gone away

nothing is as it has been

and i miss your face like hell

and i guess it's just as well

but i miss your face like hell

been talking bout the way things change

and my family lives in a different state

and if you don't know what to make of this

then we will not relate

so if you don't know what to make of this

then we will not relate

rivers and roads

rivers and roads

rivers 'til i reach you

-th&th

{link}

Festivity-Funtivity

Loook what I can do!

Spent some of the weekend hall-decking, part of which entailed whittling something off my 'DIY' list.  (I blame Pinterest.)

{you'll never guess where I live}

For a 'Crafternoon':
1. Yarn-wreath.  (Inspired by this blog.)   P
2. Paperback-book Christmas trees.  (I plan to finally put some of my old Economist magazines to good use.)
3.  Earring holder(s).  (Inspired by my brain, actually.  I mean, I'm sure I'd seen it somewhere, but I made one of these on my own, pre-Pinterest, and I love it!  I plan to replicate for some upcoming friend-birthdays.)

One down - two to go.