Archive for February, 2004


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unconscious mutterings:

Dragon:: breath

Molecule:: infintesimal

Tire:: pump

Mighty:: Mighty Bosstones

Octane:: overrated

Troll:: moss

Atmosphere:: rarified

Guide:: post

Leash:: muzzle

Dustmite:: dander

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1. Are you superstitious?

yup. i prefer to think of it as a healthy respect for unseen powers.

2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?

noone in my immediate circle has done anything i’ve considered extreme. i’ve read news stories, to be sure, but that’s hardly the same thing.

3. Believer or not, what’s your favorite superstition?

favorite in terms of always do it? knock on wood if you say something that could bring bad luck.

4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?

tricky question – let’s say i think you can make your own luck, to some extent. and yes, there are numbers that are speak to me.

5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?

to some extent, altho certainly not the drivel you find in the daily papers. hey, if we’re ‘big bags of mostly water’ (which is a quote, i think, from Buckaroo Bonzai) with an electrical charge, it only makes sense that planetary pull would affect us one way or the other. 😉


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unconscious mutterings:

Identity:: muddy

Reveal:: risque

Live:: wire

Attitude:: adjustment

Night:: and day (shades of Cole Porter)

Nevada:: Tuscon

Weekend:: getaway

Write:: block

Friend:: Gibraltar

Seventeen:: child

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* he’s sweet, funny, smart, compassionate, articulate, and amazing.

* he’s a wonderful writer, who spins fantabulous stories and invents characters out of whole cloth, characters you’d want to buy a beer.

* he’s a great dad, who takes the time to listen, and who sees his kid as an entire little person of his own.

* there’s an arc of white dots on the iris of his left eye that looks to me like a constellation hanging in the sky.

* one of the benefits of his weight loss (which is in and of itself laudable) is that he regained an adorable tush to go with the legs, which were always sexy.

* he loves rubbing my feet, because he likes making me happy.

* we can talk about the hard things.

* he’s an excellent chef, not to mention artist, musician, construction guy, photographer… (have i mentioned that he’s exceptionally talented?).

* when we curl up together, i feel like i fit just so with him.

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for me, it is the sound of intense frustration.

i was sitting in a meeting last week, and partway thru, i realized that there was a print on the window. it looked, i thought, like someone had leaned their head back against the glass, except that it was far too high to make sense for sitting in a chair, too odd that someone would just lean back while standing there. the sun came out full force about then, and i realized that there wasn’t just a round smudge, but a line, two lines, waves balancing each side… it was a bird print.

i sat there for much of the rest of the meeting, watching how the print changed as the sun went in and out. there were, i was pretty sure, claw marks as well. when all the discussion was done, i wandered over to the window and nearly pressed my nose up against the glass, examining the bird print. the details were amazing, and saddening. if you looked close enough, you could make out the beak, the bone structure on the wings, the scales on the feet, each overlapping row of feathers on the bird’s breast. i peered down at the patio, hoping to see some hint that all had ended well. no clues, just bird print. and i thought, ouch. and yeah.

much of the bitterly intense frustration of the last few weeks has caught me off guard. bitter, because i did not see it coming. bitter, because i see my part in it. bitter, because i do not have answers. at the least, i wish i had had that moment of shattering clarity when i hit the glass.

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