Lucy's Spleen

MORNING

There's a new boy slinging coffee at my downtown coffee place and I'll tell you- Oh, my. I was already enthusiastic about going in there, as the place plays a key role in my daily achieving-of-consciousness, but let's just say now they have two ways of getting my blood going. Pitter pat!

My first reaction when I discovered him was to be startled. I can't remember the last time I was attracted to someone besides my spouse. I had to run that first little excitement through the ol' data processor for a minute before I could identify that what was happening was my cartoon pupils turning into heart shapes at the ends of a pair of cone-shaped eyes bulging out of my cartoon head.

NOON

How often have you been mindlessly humming some tune, something you know backward and forward without even thinking about it and you've been humming or running it silently through your head (depending on how much at work you are) for the past two hours or two minutes (who can tell, and what difference does it make?) it's just THERE, you've been not-thinking it for so long that it is a part of yourself, it's the theme song of your life, it's what your days just go along to, possibly what all your days have always been going along to, only all of a sudden you realize you're singthinking it all fucked up and wrong? 

"When you're/ With the Simpsons/ Have a yabba dabba doo time..."

NIGHT

Speaking of my (beloved, first above all others even up to and including junior baristas) "spouse," otherwise known as my partner: right this minute (and at all other times, it seems to me lately) I'm supposed to be working on putting together some exquisite, labor-intensive, crafty assemblage to ship out later this month by way of save-the-date notices for our wedding next summer. Or should I say our alleged wedding next summer? Given the way I've been fiddling around with this blog and every other possible distraction, there could turn out not to be a wedding. I'm currently going for being in denial about all the effort involved, so I'll be able to work myself into an appreciable frenzy/World of Hurt next spring when suddenly it's all upon us and everything. Quick! Somebody give me a smart little epigram about procrastination so I can better shame myself as I continue to fart around and not do anything.

Too late, I have an old family favorite on hand already.

EPIGRAM

If you will not when you may, when you will there shall be nay.

What am I going to do with this space? This space I used to love and to which I sometimes feel called but sits mostly neglected due to nerves and the general distaste I feel for it now. I need to write every day, and I pay to keep this virtual composition notebook always open, but it doesn't feel open to me anymore. I have to turn through too many used up pages to get to the great blank non-captious available space that I need, and it's a diary always open for sisters and colleagues and exes to ransack. There's the bit of a community left that I don't want to lose- an underground network of spy allies covertly keeping one another under tender surveillance. There are still roots here, but runners were sent out long ago and there are healthy little propagated clones now quietly thriving at Flickr and on Facebook. Those are both excellent spaces with Fs and everything, but where am I going to write?

Cape Cod

 

 

 

All is not right. I've been feeling painfully unsettled and helpless, but I believe I can now trace all the problems of the world to insufficient lighting options and inharmonious furniture groupings in our apartment. Operation Seasonal Overhaul commences now.

Weekend

Atlantic, originally uploaded by Mle-Mle.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Unorthodox Organizing

Him: You own a metronome?

Me: Sure.

Him: What do you use it for?

Me: I never use it.

Him: What is it doing on the porch?

Me: It was in the hammock box.

Now that I think of it, that doesn't seem like such an unpromising pairing.

I know I don't exactly live here anymore, but this emergency in the life of someone dear merits a check-in and so much more.

 

Squid said it best, so let's hear it from her:

Gwendomama is one of my favorite people and bloggers. She is a loud-mouthed, small-business-owning, straight-shooting, food-loving, empathetic woman and dedicated mom. She is a wonderful friend to folks both inside and outside of the computer, to parents who advocate for special needs kids, and especially to parents who -- like her -- have faced the unimaginable in losing a child.

The unimaginable happened to her again. Last month, she became a victim, and to literally add insult to injury, she has found herself in a financial hole. Please, please help us help our hardworking friend gather funds for her and her children's immediate needs: food, rent, utility bills.

We are bloggers. Our superpower is connectivity, and when we use that power for good, we can save and change the world. Please forward, blog, connect, and -- especially -- donate. The campaign will end next Friday, 5/22. No amount is too small, and the sky's the limit. Thank you.

Really. Thank you.

We're Going

 

See: Presidential Inauguration Committee

and: Obamapalooza

Last night at 2:00 a.m. a mass of students paraded through our neighborhood, hollering ecstatically that, "Yes, we can," and that, "This is what democracy looks like." Our pals in NYC reported that all of Brooklyn was rejoicing: people were dancing in the streets, sounding noisemakers, throwing confetti- the works. D.C. was blowing up, Chicago, even Utah. It's extraordinary! I've always felt that my generation was missing the unity and sense of achievement I've seen among other generations that is born from a widespread sense of common ideals and common purpose. But now we have done this together and it is new. We haven't experienced such a prevailing inclination before so it's tough to pin down and we're apprehensive about acknowledging it outright, but I think what we're feeling is hope.