same-same

 Pictures left and below are of a carpet and bus shelter.
Looking at them together I see how my eye was drawn to the rectangular patterns.
Looking at my closet this week I noticed the plethora of black and white stripes.
I have a hard time wearing patterns that are not symmetrical, or clothes don't match--I saw a girl at the bus stop yesterday in black pants and a blue top and I could hardly stand looking at her. How did she go about her day like that? My shrink gave me homework  once, where I was to wear an outfit to work that I knew *did not* match, to see how my co-workers would react. No one said anything, of course, which proved--honestly, I'm not sure what it proved, other than being a soul-crushing exercise in realizing that no one really sees you.
Think about that. You can never see someone as you once did. As you first did, when you were strangers.

how alive?

I had lunch with my pal from the food bank recently. We caught up on our volunteer job gossip, traded mystery novels, shot the shite. I read your busysmartypants, he said, munching his sandwich. I didn't understand what the heck was going on!
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A co-worker said to me once, off-handedly, You pretty much do exactly what you want to do.
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This is all okay by me. This little corner of the internet is my island. I have visitors on occasion but the words and the music and the pictures and the videos--those are all for me. This is my life now. Was my life then. Who am I when no one I know is around?
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Tin House posted an Anne Lamott quote the other day: "How alive are you willing to be?" It struck me as kin to the George Saunders quotation at the top of this page. Then, then I re-read it and it felt so smug, so I found the full passage and lo here is Ms. Lamott in all her righteous rage. Have you asked yourself lately, how alive am I willing to be?
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x-posted with busysmartypants 

the end is the beginning is the end

Not much to say today because I have this story on my mind.
The ending, specifically. I am not sure how to end it and I know the beginning of the story will tell me how to finish it.
Yet--I haven't quite figured it out.
I wrote every word, and it's a mystery to me.
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This photo is of a seat somewhere in New York.
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x-posted with busysmartypants

found: a dollar

I tried on some gray hoodies and coats at Crossroads yesterday.
This Gap blazer had a wadded up dollar in the pocket.
I debated the seven dollar purchase and did not buy the blazer. Nor did I take the dollar.

the big red 9

I read at open mic on Thursday, though I didn't want to, especially. What I read didn't get laughs where I thought it might, so clearly I have work to do. The vibe was odd, too, perhaps due to the full moon? The March full moon is known as the full worm moon.
Lunch with a good friend on Friday, followed by beach time with Ms Hammy. Yesterday, a leisurely morning (which can be anxiety provoking)--and then a long bus ride north, with stops at a brew shop, an Ethiopian market, a retail 420 shoppe, and then an afternoon helping a friend move a mountain of wood chips, interspersed with beer breaks and tossing around
a tennis ball for tiny terrier Jack to fetch. We finished the evening at the Viking, with pickle chips and pitchers of Rolling Rock. On the walk home, this enormous glowing red 9 loomed overhead.

gifted

It's been a week of reconnecting, a weeknight show with a long-time friend--THEESatisfaction's new album!--dinner another night with another good pal. It feels good.
It's all ebb and flow. I'm down for some flow.
Gifted Gab was the opener, and boy can this girl spit. I'm a fan. Here's her bandcamp.