I found Jesus on First and Third.
Honestly?
29 January 2010
25 January 2010
tangles
How does this happen?!
In one little load of laundry, eleven pieces of clothing got wrapped up in an abysmal tangle that took me at least three minutes to unravel.
Woven between everything was one little pair of underwear. There was even a veritable knot in one sleeve.
Seriously.
In one little load of laundry, eleven pieces of clothing got wrapped up in an abysmal tangle that took me at least three minutes to unravel.
Woven between everything was one little pair of underwear. There was even a veritable knot in one sleeve.Seriously.
23 January 2010
hammer time
I began fully excavating my room about a week or two ago, and in doing so, I realized that I didn't know where my favorite hammer was hiding. The search started out pretty lightly, keeping an eye out for it while I was organizing things, double-checking boxes and drawers for the hammer. after a couple days, I grew more concerned. I asked my mom if she had seen it, and she had but not within the last seven years. [This hammer and I have a history.] I continued looking for my hammer, to no avail.
I began reminiscing about hanging canvases, photos, and mirrors, or using the screwdrivers housed within the handle to fix my sewing machine, friends' bed frames, and tightening doorknobs and drawer handles. Things turned a little more frantic as I realized that every knob and handle were in need of repair, and I couldn't help them because my trusty hammer was M.I.A.
It then dawned on me that I had recently had a conversation detailing how much I loved this particular hammer, but that I would let this person use it temporarily. I remember handing it to them with raised eyebrows to emphasize the seriousness of this transaction, but the face I was looking into was foggy and the circumstances beyond this glint of a memory were unclear.
So I contacted a few friends that might have unknowingly kidnapped the little tool. "Did I lend you a hammer recently? Like within the last four months, and I told you that it was my favorite hammer?" I got a scoff from one. A sympathetic note from another. One responded slightly amused, but understood the grave situation. Two didn't respond. Needless to say, my suspicion grew.
In the meantime, I thoroughly combed through the house. I looked in the usual haunts: purses, tool boxes, sewing kits, bathroom cabinets, kitchen counters, fish tanks, fireplaces, and under beds, couches, dressers, and each of our cars. Nothing.
I looked in more boxes, sacks, and closets. Nothing.
I looked in even more obscure places. Nothing.
Defeated, I considered who might have stolen it. The list was short. But I had this itching suspicion that it was nestled somewhere in a foreign drawer or tool box. I made a couple calls, sent a few more texts, and even drove to my studio to search through the supplies over there. I got a couple hopeful replies. Tyler even said that he vaguely remembered discussing a hammer, but had no further details.
Then I called my sister. I hadn't said anything to her before, even though the thought kept grazing my mind. She felt sorry for me, and we mourned a little together, but she added hopefully that she usually calls me for help when she's lost something, and it almost always turns up within a day or two. I agreed, but lowered my eyes thinking about where it could be. [My mind quickly flashed to strangers hammering their walls, criminals removing license plates with it, or fish picking at its remains at the bottom of a lake.]
But then.
In a new bag pulled from storage holding hangers, I saw the scuffed up, golden handle resting quietly inside. I didn't believe it. Seriously. I honestly thought that this was one of the countless times that this mirage had appeared while I was searching.
"You've got to be kidding me," I said to Andrea, who was still on the phone.
"What?"
"I just found my hammer."
[Inserts coos of affection.]
xoxo
I began reminiscing about hanging canvases, photos, and mirrors, or using the screwdrivers housed within the handle to fix my sewing machine, friends' bed frames, and tightening doorknobs and drawer handles. Things turned a little more frantic as I realized that every knob and handle were in need of repair, and I couldn't help them because my trusty hammer was M.I.A.
It then dawned on me that I had recently had a conversation detailing how much I loved this particular hammer, but that I would let this person use it temporarily. I remember handing it to them with raised eyebrows to emphasize the seriousness of this transaction, but the face I was looking into was foggy and the circumstances beyond this glint of a memory were unclear.
So I contacted a few friends that might have unknowingly kidnapped the little tool. "Did I lend you a hammer recently? Like within the last four months, and I told you that it was my favorite hammer?" I got a scoff from one. A sympathetic note from another. One responded slightly amused, but understood the grave situation. Two didn't respond. Needless to say, my suspicion grew.
In the meantime, I thoroughly combed through the house. I looked in the usual haunts: purses, tool boxes, sewing kits, bathroom cabinets, kitchen counters, fish tanks, fireplaces, and under beds, couches, dressers, and each of our cars. Nothing.
I looked in more boxes, sacks, and closets. Nothing.
I looked in even more obscure places. Nothing.
Defeated, I considered who might have stolen it. The list was short. But I had this itching suspicion that it was nestled somewhere in a foreign drawer or tool box. I made a couple calls, sent a few more texts, and even drove to my studio to search through the supplies over there. I got a couple hopeful replies. Tyler even said that he vaguely remembered discussing a hammer, but had no further details.
Then I called my sister. I hadn't said anything to her before, even though the thought kept grazing my mind. She felt sorry for me, and we mourned a little together, but she added hopefully that she usually calls me for help when she's lost something, and it almost always turns up within a day or two. I agreed, but lowered my eyes thinking about where it could be. [My mind quickly flashed to strangers hammering their walls, criminals removing license plates with it, or fish picking at its remains at the bottom of a lake.]
But then.
In a new bag pulled from storage holding hangers, I saw the scuffed up, golden handle resting quietly inside. I didn't believe it. Seriously. I honestly thought that this was one of the countless times that this mirage had appeared while I was searching.
"You've got to be kidding me," I said to Andrea, who was still on the phone.
"What?"
"I just found my hammer."
[Inserts coos of affection.]
xoxo
15 December 2009
love story/bad romance
It's a funny little thing eschewing sleep. Feast or famine these days. Sure, it's kind of killing me, but I kind of love it too, you know? I end up finding myself listening to unhealthy musical selections, reading silly little vignettes, fancy fashions and comics, browsing through lovely articles, fact-checking [Read: Wikipedia] everything, and getting über giddy about things like this and this and this and this and this. Oh, and my heavens, don't forget this one. It kills me.
Don't even get me started on my RSS files labeled Awful and Unbearably Awesome. And anything having to do with cats, really. It gets bad.
And it doesn't help that I ate seaweed and other assorted who-knows-whats burning the pathway from my lips to my small intestine, and then immediately regretting said decision. (But totally keeping my cool. Mostly. 3+.) And that was at normal, fully-functional, oxygen-breathing civilian hours of operation.
Back to the coal mine.
That didn't make any sense. Doesn't matter. Just watch this.
Don't even get me started on my RSS files labeled Awful and Unbearably Awesome. And anything having to do with cats, really. It gets bad.
And it doesn't help that I ate seaweed and other assorted who-knows-whats burning the pathway from my lips to my small intestine, and then immediately regretting said decision. (But totally keeping my cool. Mostly. 3+.) And that was at normal, fully-functional, oxygen-breathing civilian hours of operation.
Back to the coal mine.
That didn't make any sense. Doesn't matter. Just watch this.
17 November 2009
16 September 2009
14 July 2009
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