It was almost too sad, the whole thing.
She walked around the house, opening all the doors and cabinets and drawers. She studied the bedside photos of the man with this woman. The woman could have been her – maybe. But it was not.
She inspected the artwork, the decor and anything else she could see without touching. Anything that did not make sense to her – she knew these pieces belonged to the woman she was not and not to the man she knew. She made mental notes of what she saw.
She paused to wonder if he could see her. Something she knew was not possible but a thought that came into her head all the same.
She shifted her mind away from the idea and felt some small pleasure in the joy she gleaned from his belongings, his frozen smile in the pictures, his grasp on this other woman. Who he was – finally revealed in everything around her.
And this is what she focused on, and not the strange old sadness that filled some part of her.
Once upon a time, inspirational quotes made me want to change the world. Now I’m just trying to change my mood for the next few hours.
I was hanging around work last night. Trying to get a few things done – even when I know nothing is ever really “done”……
And the night janitor came by. He was taking a very long time to clean the whiteboard near my desk – a large whiteboard covering almost the entire wall upon which I write every few days – not work things, but all sorts of quotes to make myself think and feel and breathe. And quotes to which some people recently have started to reply – writing their own thoughts near the quotes. It’s a little quiet communal activity, my own personal version of the employee garden.
Finally, the janitor turned around to my work station – where I was one of the only people left – and told me that he looks forward to reading the quotes every evening. He told me that sometimes he even writes them down so he can share them with his wife and children. He said it was inspirational to read them. He wondered if I knew who put them there.
I was so pleased to tell him it was me and I thanked him for his gratitude.
Honestly, I haven’t felt this good about words in a very long time.
Nothing like a new pair of tights to bring out every jagged imperfection in your nails.
she was sitting, impotent
in her car, when it struck her –
Sisyphus was probably an
extreme commuter, too.
in all likelihood, he lived around
the corner from her
and drove a slightly battered
with political stickers jammed
next to peeling sports decals and
a cutesy stick figure rendering of
his nuclear family unit:
wife Merope, sons Glaucus,
Ornytion, Almus and Thersander
– and a wobbly circle representing
the family’s pet boulder
no doubt, he traveled the
same curvy parkways she
traversed, the ones that flooded
from slight rains and
seemed only to veer
directly into the path of
bright sunshine at all times
of the year – a preternatural stonehenge.
he was surely the man
weaving across every
lane but never moving ahead
as she crawled forward,
the miles clicking
but the minutes
the GPS not really
taking either of them
any closer to
their final destination
From the start, it was an odd sort of day.
It was a foggy, rainy, white-knuckle three hour commute to work.
And it was clearly going to be a one muffin, 5 cups of coffee sort of day at the office, too.
And those were just the numbers…..
Spent a lot of Mother’s day making a lemon tart from scratch.
always looking out
from the inside of my life
the world beckons
It was a particularly lazy Sunday.
In fact – that day – the closest she would come to cooking would be when she made a cup of coffee using her nespresso machine.
In a row.
And once again after a sluggish afternoon nap.