These are the kinds of days I love. It’s the Chicagoan in me, I think. (Although I’m betting Chicagoan’s don’t like these kind of days.) I’ve always run melancholic, so these scenes give me the atmosphere to match my mood. Super Pour, Part Deux Super Pour, The Third Installment
Today, like so many days, started with a cacaphony of kids, TV, chore-listing and chore-avoiding. So many mornings begin this way and I find that time blurs together, with no specific start or end point. Living more consciously is a goal of mine, so I decided to invite my husband back to bed for a…Continue Reading
I’m anxious. Not just now, but always. It’s an affliction, a way of life, a disease, a problem. I’ve always been, well, spazzy. I am extremely reactive and one of those people who is very mood-absorbent. That’s what I call it anyway. It’s as if I absorb the energy or the mood of things,…Continue Reading
I spent the day in a perfectly delightful French café editing a market research report. French women (I’m assuming, since they were beautiful, stylish, skinny) staffed the place and it seemed as if everyone were from somewhere else. True enough, I overheard snippets of “I just returned from London,” “I can’t wait to get…Continue Reading
When’s the first time you realized you had a lot of growing up to do?Not in the way of ceasing goofiness, or quitting looking for earthworms after a rain, or not sticking your finger in your husband’s butt as he walks up the stairs, but rather, seeing that your old ways aren’t working for you?…Continue Reading
I have this thing about poo. In that I am simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by it. It’s interesting to ponder poop and appreciate its evacuatory properties. It is a waste by-product, after all, and the fact that it represents your body cleaning itself out is exciting (to me, but I also like pus, for the…Continue Reading
I have to show you something.
OK, I’d like to back up and explain the hair more clearly. I turned 39 on Thanksgiving. And I’ve got this thing happening. I’m feeling 27. So when I look in the mirror and see the opposite of 27, I get confused. My face is not 27. But my brain tells me I am. It’s…Continue Reading