Or a mild case of the mehs, I don't know. The end of Daylight Savings Time, sure. It's stupid how every year we all turn to each other at 4pm and say it feels like it should be 8! When duh, it happens every year, how are we still surprised? But yeah. It feels like it should be 8.On the bus home tonight I read the news. Something about how the cost of climate change is expected to be enormous and then that bit about Penn State. Fuck--what is wrong with people? With all of us? It makes me want to spend an hour plucking my eyebrows in a magnifying mirror. (Which is what I did just now before starting this post so if you see me tomorrow don't look too closely at the outside of my left eyebrow because it's kinda' not there anymore.) (Oh, also? I have always wanted to be able to raise one eyebrow in bemused skepticism, but when I try it just looks like I'm trying to hide the fact that I farted while having a stroke, and now I certainly can't raise one eyebrow seeing as how one is a shadow of its former self.)
Or it could just be the Mulling Spices I bought this weekend at Trader Joe's. How I have ruined one pot simmering them to make my home smell safe and warm and right. How I think that if I pay my bills and balance my checkbook that everything will be ok, the world tepid, ten year old boys untouched. How I tell myself that at least it is 8 o'clock twice a day, I mean that's good, right? So I put on my chenille sleep socks and pad around the house softly once everyone is in bed, putting things away where they belong, smelling of orange peels, allspice and cloves.
5 comments:
i have these same thoughts. but my milling spices are textiles from ikea. somehow i always think they'll make my world a better place. at least you smell good by the end of the night. oh, i get this all too well.
True story: I practice for uncounted hours as a tween so I could raise my brow in bemused skepticism. It has proven exceptionally convenient now that I am married with children.
"Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall."
Gibran, Khalil. The Prophet. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1923. Print.
Ah, a touch of the old Petunia Girl here. The fart/stroke eyebrow made me chortle. This coming from a girl who's way overdue at Benefit for a spot of the wax and justifying it as a tribute to Andy Rooney..
And technically I think you're sposed to make a bad ass mulled cider (avec alcohol, por favor) with mulling spices. What you did is kinda like cooking CC cookies to sell your house. I did love the last line. Made me think of "in the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo".
In case it's not clear, this is not snark, just admiration and checking in.
so freakin' funny! I'll admit I was kind of scared when I saw the picture of the chicken crossing the road...
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