Perforation Problems

This is a little more interesting, though not a very good picture. My friend and I drove down to Bloomington tonight to see David Sedaris read from Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls .

I am 100% unsure why I took a picture of my almost-empty ice tea. I told you the pictures were going to get even more boring than normal. Only 61 more days of Project 365. Hang in there.

It sucks when someone puts something delicious in your bowl (Is that cheese and bread? Why are we wasting that on Clyde?) and then makes you wait until they say you can eat it. Poor Clyde.

At work we're encouraged to spend one work day a year volunteering, whether it's at a company-selected event or something of our own choosing. A few of us ended up volunteering at the humane society on a day they supply needy families with pet food. Most of the day was spent handing out bags of Kibbles n' Bits, but we did get to visit the kittens inside. Kittens are pretty great.

My hands were cold, so I'm writing this while underneath a blanket. All the way under a blanket, with the screen of my laptop tenting the fabric and creating a bright glow to light my little cave. It's a good 10 degrees warmer in here, so even though Michael just scratched at my roof and essentially said, "What are you doing, weirdo?," I'm going to stand by my work environment choices.  After my poetry spasm the other day, I've been thinking about how one brings about a creative mood. I've always agreed with the thought that creativity is a muscle -- you have to exercise it, or it's harder to use -- but now I'm reminded that you also have to surround yourself with inspiration, as well. You have to get yourself in the mood, if you know what I mean. Heh heh. So basically I have to search out creativity porn.  Ugh, now it's getting too hot in my blanket cave. I made a "window" with my leg. Guys, being a writer is hard.  Let's g...

I was sitting on the couch tonight, reading The Mermaid Chair and obliquely watching the Olympics, avoiding writing because it just seemed like so. much. work. So heavy, so hard. It's been rough, lately. This endless winter. Whine, whine, whine. And then an iPad commercial came on, and that, of all things, knocked me out of it. Welcome, commercialism. But I'm grateful for it. I'm sitting there, half reading, half letting my mind wander to all the little worries floating around my brain, when I hear familiar words. Have you ever had that feeling, when you hear a phrase you know, a song, a line from a poem, a quote from a movie, and it turns something inside you, something warm, something that says, "here's what's worth it, here's what's true, what's beautiful, what's important." I guess it's joy. It was a voiceover from Robin Williams' character in Dead Poets Society , quoting Walt Whitman. One of my favorite movies, and one tha...

In reality, it's February 17th, 2014, and I'm finally opening up Blogger again, though it feels like making myself go to the dentist. I haven't written much in the last four months -- and I think I'm suffering for it. The writer in me has crusted up. In blog picture land, it's November 1st, 2013, our last full day on Eleuthera. It makes me sad to remember it. The last day of vacation is the worst. I just took 10 minutes to track down this little piece I wrote back in July when it was almost time to leave the cabin: On the last day of vacation you try not to count the hours – 24 hours left…18 hours left...10 hours left…one more swim…one more dinner… one more time to fall asleep reading in the sunroom, the night breeze covering your skin. But part of you counts, and part of you is sad. No, no, you say to yourself. Don’t think about it. Just enjoy it. The last ice cream sundae, the last evening walk. I feel different on long vacations. I turn ...