confession: i think ahead to the end of my life and imagine that i’ll want more time, whether that end arrives in one year or fifty-seven. i try to make more time in advance of that death. i bend time better while sleeping than awake, but i figure all practice counts toward mastery and it gives me another reason to take more naps.
confession: i want more free stuff. (specifically, i want a free nightstand in austin to pick up eight weeks from now.) when i moved from austin, i tried to give away my washer and dryer for free, first to people i knew and then on craigslist. nobody came to claim them. i gratefully receive free stuff in philadelphia every week. i live smack between a working class neighborhood and an old-moneyed neighborhood. rich people set out lots of perfectly good stuff the night before trash and recycling day. i shamelessly ninja-stealthy sift through the goodies at midnight.
confession: this morning i saw a smashed benz jeep on a tow truck with its engine guts hanging out–big metal roadkill being hauled away.
confession: when i wear green, i think of her. green is her color. i wore green my entire life before meeting her without thinking anything about it, but now when i wear green, i think of it as her color.
confession: sometimes i feel inexplicable embarrassment while trying to explain my choices to prejudging ignoramuses. for example, i go on a different cruise vacation about once every other year—different oceans, different continents, different countries. people who think they know me, people who have never been on a cruise, or people who have been on an obnoxious disney cruise or some horrible low-rent caribbean cruise and assume their isolated experience applies to all cruises without an inkling that the variety of cruise options are vaster than those on the sixty foot food trough at buffet palace–these people say to me, “you don’t seem like someone who would like a cruise.” dude…sitting on a deck chair beneath stars in the middle of the ocean every night, sleeping in a completely dark interior cabin while the ship gently sways, and waking up in a different exciting port city each day waiting for me to explore it–if you don’t understand why i love these things, how do i begin to explain myself to you?
confession: i depart on a cruise in a couple weeks and i hate telling people because they usually respond in the manner described above.
confession: i had a mini-breakdown last friday. i couldn’t work anymore. i couldn’t talk about it. i couldn’t cry about it. i couldn’t reach out and ask for help. i did the only thing i could do. i made art. i mailed two of those creations to two different friends yesterday. i can work again today. i wish a breakdown-free week to you and me.