I have these two orange sharpies–one is neon orange, and one is pumpkin orange, but their caps are almost the exact same color. Wtf!
I don’t like to be overly weird about spelling, word forms, or grammar, but it bothers me when people confuse breath and breathe.
If my desk was a sculpture art piece, it would be called Good Intentions: A Mess.
I felt really grateful someone helped me learn something, but now I can’t remember who that was, or the topic.
Someone gave me a present last year, but I don’t like that person anymore, and I don’t know what to do with the present. It’s at the edge of my desk, gathering dust. I fantasize about what to do with it but never follow through.
I have this song stuck in my head that I strongly associate with my mom and dad, and it’s bugging me. It’s appealing but misogynist, which is uncomfortable. It makes me think of records, lying on the living room floor as a tiny child, back before some painful things happened. I guess that’s inside me, but I’d rather not. (It’s Cat Stevens.)
Yesterday I gardened for a moment, moving pots, moving a tomato cage…does photographing plants count as gardening? And something bit my finger, nastily! It got bright red and itchy, in a little spot. Ming said it was an ant. Something bit his toe, in the garden. I said maybe it was a mosquito. Ants never did that to me. God, I love ants!
time
I was telling Ming how 9 o’clock is an awkward time either way. In the morning, it’s not the fresh amazing part of morning anymore–I think that’s like 6-8am. Then at night, it’s not the exciting first part of night, or the late, deep, mystical night. Nine is a bland time. Sorry, 9 o’clock.
Then I was saying feet are like 9 o’clock. Kind of dirty, can be ugly, could smell, could be vulnerable to getting cuts or thorns. But useful, usually solid, and helpful for getting from place to place. They stick out awkwardly, and toes are easy to stub. We need them, but I don’t really like them. I much prefer other body parts.
Ming said, “What about shins?”
I said, “Shins are fine.”
He said shins are an extension of feet. It was a cool idea I’d never thought of. Shins are not dirty, not vulnerable, and don’t poke out awkwardly. But I’m trying to understand what he means.
question
What do you think this was a blog post about? It started like a pet peeves list of recent times, but it turned into something else. The way an argument can turn into an argument about arguments, this post has turned into a post about posts. I hope it’s ok with you, loved Reader.
