I
"This coffee is good."
"It's sooo good."
"I kind of want to snuggle up in a tub full of it."
"... you know, I think that would actually be really gross."
"And it's a weird image."
"Let's just drink it. Quietly."
II
"And then she punched me really hard on the arm and said, 'You're going to need to sell me one of those purses,' and I was all, No. And don't hit me again."
"She's got man hands."
"Yeah."
"Let's call her ... Emangeline."
III
"So what I'm going to do now is go back to my desk and pretend I didn't ever come over here and ask you such a stupid question."
"Awwwww, don't be like that."
"Really?
"Yeah, if we pretend you didn't ask then I can't tease you about it later. That would suck."
"DUDE. I love you."
IV
"Then there was silence. And not just any silence. The kind of silence that comes in Westerns, with that weird flute music and a tumbleweed, when all of the lookie-loos retreat into the saloon and peek out of windows in a stealthy manner."
"I hate that kind of silence."
"I know, and I was all nerved up like, oh crap, now what do I do."
"What did you do?"
"I started whistling the theme song from Indiana Jones."
"WHAT?"
"It was all I could think of. Don't judge me."
V
"This movie is so funny it will make you snork."
"So. Should I not be drinking beer?"
"No you SHOULD be drinking beer. You should just be aware that it may be shooting through your sinus cavities at some point."
"Noted. Proceed.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Ahhhhhhhhh (choo)
I love spring. I love it.
Except, you know, for the allergies part.
Or -- maybe that's not true. Maybe I can learn to love my allergies because they come with springtime. Maybe it's okay that my head feels like it's full of packing peanuts right now because it's springtime and they go together. Maybe sometimes you just need to overlook the bad stuff -- the constant sneezing and eye goo -- for the good stuff -- birdies! Flowers! Trees with leaves!
Maybe sometimes when you have lots of buckets of good, you have to overlook the occasional pocketful of not so good, and remember to focus on what's beautiful instead of what is making you mental-ish.
It's an idea.
So. I'm going to take a Claritin, and drink a cup of coffee and look at this amazing morning and focus on what's good.
I hope you can do the same.
Except, you know, for the allergies part.
Or -- maybe that's not true. Maybe I can learn to love my allergies because they come with springtime. Maybe it's okay that my head feels like it's full of packing peanuts right now because it's springtime and they go together. Maybe sometimes you just need to overlook the bad stuff -- the constant sneezing and eye goo -- for the good stuff -- birdies! Flowers! Trees with leaves!
Maybe sometimes when you have lots of buckets of good, you have to overlook the occasional pocketful of not so good, and remember to focus on what's beautiful instead of what is making you mental-ish.
It's an idea.
So. I'm going to take a Claritin, and drink a cup of coffee and look at this amazing morning and focus on what's good.
I hope you can do the same.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Fake It Til You Make It
"I love what you write," she said, "because you seem so wise."
This statement split me in two. Half of me was incredibly flattered -- what a compliment! And the other half ...
... well.
The other half felt embarrassed. Because I am a lot of things, but wise is not on the list.
The truth is that I am comfortable documenting my life's bumbles and fumbles on the internet for all to read because I think we're all bumbling and fumbling around down here, and most of us are convinced that admitting that we don't know what we're doing is, for some reason, shameful. Despite the fact that I confessed yesterday that not knowing what I'm doing at work is stressing me out, I have become pretty used to announcing that I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, and that I am winging it with regularity; I announce it because I suspect that I'm not the only one, that a lot of us are sort of feeling our way through life, and I also think that if I am open about the fact that I have an issue or two ... or three ... or one hundred and twelve ... that it might make other people more easy about their issues.
That's not wisdom, though. That's just shared experience.
I believe some things, strongly. If you've followed along for any period of time, you know about some of them: I believe in civil discourse; I believe in love; I believe in kindness; I believe in equality and compassion and understanding and humanity.
I also believe that I have a tendency to run at the mouth ... or in this case, type (and blather) on and on.
I don't know about wisdom. I know about stories, shared stories, and sharing beliefs and trying to find a way to connect. I feel like I'm not the only one searching for a lamp to light the darkness that is so eager to fall. If I say something that strikes a match for someone else, then I am humbled and thankful.
And when someone takes the time to tell me that something, some small thing, that I have said helps light the way, then my own strange and twisty path is illuminated, and I feel blessed.
Mildly embarrassed.
But blessed all the same.
This statement split me in two. Half of me was incredibly flattered -- what a compliment! And the other half ...
... well.
The other half felt embarrassed. Because I am a lot of things, but wise is not on the list.
The truth is that I am comfortable documenting my life's bumbles and fumbles on the internet for all to read because I think we're all bumbling and fumbling around down here, and most of us are convinced that admitting that we don't know what we're doing is, for some reason, shameful. Despite the fact that I confessed yesterday that not knowing what I'm doing at work is stressing me out, I have become pretty used to announcing that I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, and that I am winging it with regularity; I announce it because I suspect that I'm not the only one, that a lot of us are sort of feeling our way through life, and I also think that if I am open about the fact that I have an issue or two ... or three ... or one hundred and twelve ... that it might make other people more easy about their issues.
That's not wisdom, though. That's just shared experience.
I believe some things, strongly. If you've followed along for any period of time, you know about some of them: I believe in civil discourse; I believe in love; I believe in kindness; I believe in equality and compassion and understanding and humanity.
I also believe that I have a tendency to run at the mouth ... or in this case, type (and blather) on and on.
I don't know about wisdom. I know about stories, shared stories, and sharing beliefs and trying to find a way to connect. I feel like I'm not the only one searching for a lamp to light the darkness that is so eager to fall. If I say something that strikes a match for someone else, then I am humbled and thankful.
And when someone takes the time to tell me that something, some small thing, that I have said helps light the way, then my own strange and twisty path is illuminated, and I feel blessed.
Mildly embarrassed.
But blessed all the same.
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