September 7th, 2006

good mris pic

Poll results and now bumper stickers.

So, yesterday's poll confirmed that the things that freak me out the most are not the things that freak most people out the most. Feet and ears, people. Feet and ears. Do not do violence to either one of them. Apparently I am nearly alone in this. And I will probably be even more alone if I say that it's not ears that are the worst, it's the little fine hairs just above my ears. The little wispy ones. Mess with those at your peril. (This is not so much an issue when I'm not wearing my hair pulled back, and these days I'm not wearing my hair pulled back all that often.)

I also bowed to public opinion (for once -- I don't promise to ever do it again) and worked on both sex and violence in Sampo yesterday. I keep repeating to myself that I am tougher than this book. It is a nearer thing than it usually is.

I'm wearing shorts and a T-shirt today, short skirt and cami top yesterday, but you know what's on my to-do list for the week? "Put electric mattress pad on bed." Because fall is coming, and you don't want to wake up in the middle of the night surprised by it. You just want to punch the little button and go back to warm, blissful sleep.

I have been unduly influenced by the, "Jesus is coming. Look busy," bumper stickers, I guess, because now, "_____ is coming," is invariably followed by, "look busy," in my head. I am still capable of hearing, "_____ loves you," without filling in, "but the rest of us think you're a jerk." But that's still my favorite Jesus-related bumper sticker.

I did not start this entry intending to talk about Jesus-related bumper stickers. Such is life; at least, such is my life.

Still in love.

Next month, it will be three years since we moved home. People kept telling me to prepare to be disappointed, which I thought was terrible advice at the time -- if you're prepared, it isn't disappointment, is it? it's sadness or anger or something else, but not disappointment -- and it looks just as bad from three years' vantage. I have not been disappointed. No.

Instead, I have moments like one today, when I was driving past the State Fairgrounds on my way to Finnish Bistro. I got to that bit of Como Ave. where you can see the Minneapolis skyline from the wrong side, and I had just passed billboards for Pronto Pups, Hamline, and the Wild. They were doing some late-season construction on Linnea House. I was on my way to have lunch with porphyrin. The sun was out, and the trees are that mature late-summer green that's just about to go crazy with fall. And my breath caught in my throat, because I love this place so much. It's the kind of thing where you hope no one tries to make you talk, because if you have to put the words on it in the moment, you will fly apart into tiny pieces. If it was a man, you'd maybe run a finger along his beard and smile, and if he asked you, "What?", you'd just say, "You." I don't know what you do when it's your city or your Cities, though. Bite your lip and keep driving and smile until your face hurts, while your heart sings home, home, home.

Tonight all my energy has run out like someone poked a hole in the bottom of the energy bucket, and I don't know if I'm coming down with something or just running short on sleep from the earlier-week nightmares, but I do know that I'd rather be sick or well here than anywhere else in the world.