28 October 2010
Don't Wait Too Long
I tore out this picture of Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan from last week's New Yorker and tacked it up above my desk.
I did this for two reasons.
24 October 2010
Then/Now
October in Chicago has been sunshine and honeycrisp apples in oatmeal and a slow easing into the weather change, like wading into a lake.
That girl running on the lake path today, singing this under her breath? That was me.
I follow Tavi's style blog. I get this weird pleasure from her posts extolling the virtues of Sassy Magazine, Hole and the movie Heathers. I was her age when all of that stuff was breaking, and one part of me is freaking out, feeling old and bewildered at how much time has passed. The other part of me is vowing not to miss out on Doc Martins this time around.
That girl running on the lake path today, singing this under her breath? That was me.
I follow Tavi's style blog. I get this weird pleasure from her posts extolling the virtues of Sassy Magazine, Hole and the movie Heathers. I was her age when all of that stuff was breaking, and one part of me is freaking out, feeling old and bewildered at how much time has passed. The other part of me is vowing not to miss out on Doc Martins this time around.
08 October 2010
Dreamlife
I need to quit sleeping so much.
I wigged myself out this morning with a two-part dream in which a little girl, about 7 years old, killed the Pope (oddly, JP II, not Benedict) and all of the cardinals and nuns standing nearby. She walked up to him wearing a grey schoolgirl uniform and a beret, gave him a sweet hug and when she pulled away, he was a dried up, shrunken corpse. All of his attendants dropped dead simultaneously. They were laid out, their skins like a blackened banana all around the outdoor altar we were gathered around.
The second part of the dream took place in a mansion or a compound. I was trapped there with several other people, who decided to start eating the pets when the food got low. I rescued Andromeda, Odin and a gray Burmese that was almost hairless. All three of them went into the same cat carrier, and I walked through the streets with them, promising them that I'd never let anyone kill them. The new cat could talk, she told me she was scared.
Sleep is my drug of choice. I didn't want to wake up this morning and deal with the logistics of attending a wedding in the suburbs tomorrow with only enough money to either rent a car OR spend the night...not both. So I kept going back to sleep and to the creepier, more desperate choices of the dream world.
I wigged myself out this morning with a two-part dream in which a little girl, about 7 years old, killed the Pope (oddly, JP II, not Benedict) and all of the cardinals and nuns standing nearby. She walked up to him wearing a grey schoolgirl uniform and a beret, gave him a sweet hug and when she pulled away, he was a dried up, shrunken corpse. All of his attendants dropped dead simultaneously. They were laid out, their skins like a blackened banana all around the outdoor altar we were gathered around.
The second part of the dream took place in a mansion or a compound. I was trapped there with several other people, who decided to start eating the pets when the food got low. I rescued Andromeda, Odin and a gray Burmese that was almost hairless. All three of them went into the same cat carrier, and I walked through the streets with them, promising them that I'd never let anyone kill them. The new cat could talk, she told me she was scared.
Sleep is my drug of choice. I didn't want to wake up this morning and deal with the logistics of attending a wedding in the suburbs tomorrow with only enough money to either rent a car OR spend the night...not both. So I kept going back to sleep and to the creepier, more desperate choices of the dream world.
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