One of many awkward me-affiliated places.
Time-Dependent SemiPublic Memory Bank,
Super Secret Dumping/Proving Ground,
Displaced Miscellany Collection,
3 Hours in the Future (EST)
I’ll tell you this, because we are friends: I sit and use tumblr to arrange and rearrange my Bird Alignments constantly because it is the easiest to drag squares of images program that exists on my phone.
…[¡DING!] has sort of evolved into something else, which is also great—it’s dubious that one could ever go wrong with a bell as punctuation for exultation—but I still have an inappropriate love for this 69 seconds of audio.
I’d always sort of assumed on some level that I would have to Jenny Fields my way into motherhood; but it was not until that moment on the plane—as I flipped through the safety guide—that I had an epiphany, complete with proverbial lightbulb in the water and sky: I think it is somewhat likely that I will find my child while adrift at sea.
I’d think about naming him something found-water-baby appropriate; like Moses, though I would quickly enough run through name troubleshooting and assume that kids¹ will call him Grandma, and if he is not my biological offspring perhaps he will not naturally have thick skin; so either “Moses” and I would tease him from a very young age, or—more likely—would choose something like Marko Alexandrovich Ramius² (maybe just Alex). I assume I have a little time to figure it out.
But, in any case, I would surely encourage my ward from the sea to always be at home in the water, as I was and am always at home in the water and as it would surely be something that would come up in the future.
¹ Or terrible jokey parents the likes of which I would imagine I would immediately become upon taking on a human stewardship position.
² I just found out about the Jack Ryan movie to be released this Winter and may have ever so slightly wet my pants. I love them all, but TH4RO most.
A week ago, I had a bit of a fire in my apartment and ended up with enough plastic melted on—quite possibly—my favorite pointing finger and I have consequently thought about this song for about a week through to a meeting exactly 168 hours later, where—if it had been anyone else—*I* probably still wouldn’t’ve considered the other useful finger’s situationally appropriate utility, but *one* might.
I realized just now that I have only really purchased music by dudes I’ve loved a little, whether it’s the new WSH album (which has been playing on a loop here), 3 of DL’s (timetravelling bedfellow!) albums, or I dunno, what other CDs do I own? You wanna call me out on the “Out to Sea” Soundtrack? It has Walter Matthau on the cover AND includes Lt. Commander Data singing on it: heck yes that was a weird affiliation driven purchase!
Tatertot needs a new hard drive and everything feels a little broken. I am riding out a suspension from the bird site with all the pent up angst of someone who will always find a vent. (Ah, blabnotebook; Ah, humanity.) Which, I guess, includes here. But really this place I knew had that track at the ready.
I scalded the bejesus out of my index finger pulling a tea-kettle off the stove the other night and was thinking about the fact that it was among my top 4 fingers (inclusive of both hands and apropos of this song, which is on the arguably terribly short list of tracks on CDs that I purchased in the 90′s).
…Which was secondarily on mind because of a subway incident last week, which solidified my general Sally Draper stance on the city.
It’s formed a blister; and I know I have clean lancets in lab, but I woke up in a pretty positive space: so I figure I will deal with it when eventually ganging a load of dealing with less good things.
M°: Ohman, this morning as I drove up to the office there was a car in my usual parking spot so I dropped a full “F.U.,” and then read out his personalized license plate and then realized he was a C-level guy at my company and also he was sitting in his car watching me deploy a fully formed F-bomb at him personally.
M¹: See, I know that can’t be true because you are pretty measured in your use of swears.
M°: ohh, behind the wheel ME lets slip the dogs of war when it comes to colorful language. Johnny5 knows all my secrets, maybe chief among which: I swear like a chimney.
M¹: Are you confusing some other phrase with “smoke like a chimney”?
M°: …nah, see a chimney doesn’t swear a lot either, maybe a couple loud ones from the house make it out periodically; but you figure maybe about once a year a chunky guy with gifts gets stuck in there and just all heck breaks loose.
M¹: I can’t place why I feel SO sub-optimal. Like legit bad. Like I wept while singing along to “Under Pressure” in the car. Twice. It came on both ways.
M²: Is it the move? You do form attachments to places. Plus the jobtalk kinda work stuff and more general will have to make some decisions anxiety?
M¹: I don’t think that’s it. It feels more physical.
M²: Is it the movING? All those boxes yesterday were probably the biggest workout you’ve done all year.
M¹: Soreness is only part of it. It’s not allergies either.
M²: What’d you watch last night?
M¹: Alright, I did finish up S3 of “The Good Place” again so I was a little very sad about that, but I have seen it before so it’s not like it’d suddenly be haunting me in the car.
M²: Uhuh. And are you still poorly dealing with feelings about that boy? Indeed, weren’t you particularly sad about it for a tic at around 2AM—
M¹: Stopping you right there; that’s been part of baseline noise for 2⁺ years, even when I was dating other people, so I don’t think that’s it.
M²: What’ve you been eating?
M¹: Admittedly, last night I ate straight garbage. But it’s not quite gastrointestinal.
M²: What’ve you been drinking?
M¹: I’ve been having like a pot of coffee a day, but it’s not just feeling wired.
M²: Hmm. Head, Hands, Heart, Health...Horm—hey, what phase of the moon is it?
M¹: Ne-ewwwohh dagnabbit. Diagnosis: Murder.
M²: I always discover the truth. It’s a blessing and—
M¹: a curse.
M²: Right. But also? Surely none of that other stuff is great.
M¹: Resolved: straightening up and flying right September 1.