Calling all connoisseurs of sweetness … .
I’m an observer. I think most of y’all have figured that out. I’m constantly responding to you in my head as I observe your posts & follow your threads both here & via Twitter. (Really, I am!) If you’re tuned in to my frequency, Kenneths, you may have heard me. I hope I sound like Neko Case through fog.
I’m just as fascinated by the way your mind works as I am by how you construct your sentences as I am by the way you wear your shoes. I collect details the way some people collect seashells, stamps, baseball cards. Love your photographs, especially self-portraity ones. Especially. The self-portraity ones. Love your music.
My family always questioned my choice to collect waaay too much literary education. Not a very practical way to make a living. They never understood that if you get why Anna Karenina tilts her head just so, why Leopold Bloom walks a certain route every morning, why Clarissa Dalloway arranges her flowers in a certain way … then you can understand, feel, & conquer anything. These little moments—like the ones we post to & for each other—define and connect us. They are those oh-so-weighty lil’ grains of sand within which we store our personal eternities. And yours are some of my new favorite things.
Other favorite things? Linguistic complexity. Pop tarts. Music so good that you forget what your name is. Laughing really hard. Color. Feathers. Hazelnut lattes. Ugly words used creatively (I’m sparkly, but I cuss like a merman). Saturday morning sunshine streaming through my bedroom windows. M&Ms. Musical theatre. The memory of my grampa tending his peonies, grinning up at gramma on the porch. Mexican food with margaritas. Deep purple toenail polish. Glitter & light. Books & tweets.
Biggest fear? Being average, vanilla, beige. Blah.
Happy weekend, peeps.
