Sunday, January 27, 2013

postcard: always look on the bright side of life

You can't have a Happy Life. There are happy moments and crap moments and meh moments...and a million other moments. I try to embrace them for what they are, not give extended influence to any one, and then move along. I try.
I also try to tip the happiness balance in my favor by
...spending time in the company of funny, smart, and kind people whenever possible.
...expending as little energy as possible on walking, talking black holes.
...carving out something for myself that keeps my brain active and forces me to create.
...knowing that every rough patch is just a string of crap moments, as fleeting as any other. Nothing crap can stay either, Ponyboy.
There's my bright side for you.

postcard: i still don't believe it

A slight majority voted for optimism and compassion.
But 47.8%, almost half, voted for fear. That's what I can't believe.
“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” - Yoda

postcard: out of place

I have eczema on my hands, and in recent months it was bad enough that I took to wearing cotton gloves--glaring white, no less...they don't come in any other color--to protect my skin from germs, from my own scratching and picking (sorry: truth), and because, well, nobody likes to flaunt hamburger hands.
So, these gloves are eye-catching, and I get no shortage of questions and comments when I wear them at the library.  One individual seeking out some automotive-related books asked about the gloves and, tempering my response based on a sixth sense (a weirdar?) developed out of necessity in my line of work, I replied simply, "I wear them to protect my hands."
The back and forth continued as we sussed out exactly what sort of automotive information he needed and I walked him to a shelf in the 629s to see if something might fit the bill.  Out of habit, I reached up to straighten some books on the shelf [WITH MY WHITE GLOVED HANDS]. It was clear to me early on (weirdar) that he was distracted--unable to get past the white gloves and some burning need to know more AND stricken by knowing there is no smooth, socially acceptable way to broach the subject again. The fruit of his mental labor?
"I've always wondered what it's like to handle books with gloves on."

Saturday, January 26, 2013

postcard: favorite line

I'll be the one to break my heart / I'll be the one to hold the gun


"I Feel It All" by Feist
I remember in the beginning
A dream:
I was at an airport restaurant with my love and couldn't keep my hands off him. No ravenous make out attack. Just hands on...a need to feel physical warmth and connection.  I feel it in my chest as I write. I've always, always felt the closest and most connected through touch.  My heart on my skin.
And now,
he sleeps on top of the blankets
a strike without contact.

postcard: 1234...5

you doggedly, patiently strive
and in the meantime, in this
strip mall shoe box, make community
remember names, swap stories
enable pursuits of happiness

postcard: self portrait

What do you get when you cross a persistent, idealistic 20-year-old prone to indignation with the pragmatic version almost twice that age? Me.
I am not the woman my younger self envisioned. I am so much better and so much worse. We cohabit my brain, alternately disappointed with our spineless ultimatums, and impatient with our simplistic if-thens.
Writing helps the truce building. Beyond, because of, or in spite of all this (and depending on the realm), I'm a catalyst, a buffer, a connector, a cleaner, and a creator.