Some days you just have a mood, you know? Like anxiety, or restlessness…anger. Some days you have a black heart, and some days it’s grey, and some days you go to the grocery store and buy milk and toilet paper, everything white and clean.
I’m really into yellow lately–yellow nap blankets, yellow squash from the garden, new yellow pillows from Lindsey.
It just seems a more Fall way to be, yellow. The whole turquoise and bright red thing is too young and optimistic. It’s too summery.
Now turquoise and YELLOW, well…that is some adult shit right there. That is reading Nora Ephron in my own apartment with an afghan draped over my business casual wear.
I am on a plane right now as you read this, headed west. One last dose of sunshine while it is raining and September-perfect in Salt Lake, and then home again. New and improved.
Recently I said that even my bad decisions turn out to be good decisions. I tell the truth, try to be myself to the best of my abilities (this little light of mine…) and things come full circle. Or at least they feel real. Bad, but real. Anxious, but honest. Etc.
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I’ve got plans, Friends, for the first time in a while. I wasn’t looking to make plans, but then they just started making themselves, and I am more than happy to go along for the ride. (Life is what happens to you…)
I now know what my life will look like for the next 6 months, and I’ve got a good hunch about Life after that. There will be crazy races, tattoos, haircuts, big moves, big decisions, lots of music, lots of hard work and as much time as I can possibly spend with my friends and family.
Because who knows when this charmed little chapter of my life will end?
I do, Friends. And I’m not telling.
Found my list of Summer Goals, from way back in May, when I had high hopes and thought, as we always do, that I’d make more time somehow.
-read more, less TV
-get a land line, no more cell phone
-become a better photographer
-learn to sew
-start new blogs (and then I list them, which I won’t do here)
-go for more walks
Sometimes you trick the system and wind up on a committee with money designated for nothing more than gardening and community building. So you toil away all summer and then throw a party, knowing full-well that the vast majority of your coworkers do not give a single shit, and you could care less, because it is Sunday and you get to hang out in the world’s coolest backyard, eating salsa and drinking beer and savoring the dregs of summer.
I work every Saturday and complain almost as often about the fact that I only have three days off per month. Friends will comment covetously of my Tuesday and Thursday mornings spent baking, running errands, cleaning house, listening to music…and I’ll just as quickly ask them what it’s like to have TWO DAYS OFF IN A ROW EVERY SINGLE WEEK.
(Perry Says it’s like having a mini vacation. Huh.)
Sometimes a thing is so funny to me that once it starts being funny it doesn’t stop being funny. For life.
Like when Robby described his AA meetings as “a bunch of people sitting around smoking like animals.”
Or that New Year’s in Spain where I took a hanger out of the hall closet and hung my coat up in the bathroom.
Or there was this one time, with a bowl of cereal…actually I have never successfully told the cereal story without laughing myself to tears. It is just that funny to me, and usually not at all funny to anyone else.
Your Idea, Not Mine
Life was really, really good just then, and she told him so. A quick text sent while balancing her bike, laden basket-heavy with booze, snacks, a change of clothes. Toothpaste, toiletries. Waiting while Espy lugged her own steel horse down the steep steps, where they would pick up where they’d left off–positing halfheartedly about the necessity of courtship in our modern day, or gushing about graphic novels and artists and style. Her hands and feet puffed like cotton balls from summer’s sudden, lackadaisical reappearance, dry heat like a reminder, an afterthought. A sigh.
At the height of summer the sun was rising when my alarm woke me at six, light spreading across the valley as I biked to work in shorts and a t-shirt. Then each morning grew a little darker, a little more chill, and I began wearing my hoodie again, shadows chasing me as I sped downhill.
September came, and you could feel Fall on the wind, like a thought whispered, a slight breeze past your ear. The promise of crisp, clean air and burnt colors and crunch. And I was ready.
Some days my life feels like a logic problem. Like the one where a farmer needs to get a fox, a hen and a bag of grain across a river, but he can only take one at a time and can never leave the fox alone with the hen or the hen alone with the grain. Because, you know, the food chain.