u s e y o u r h a n d s

I am at my favorite coffe place, the Grind in Lincon Square. I tipped my head down toward my keyboard and yawned. And before I could stop it, a big drop of drool fell out my mouth and on to the table, just missing the board.

Man, kittycats, your lady of Use Your Hands is feeling mightly low today. I’ve been saying stupid things all week to everyone, and now I just feel deflated. I laid under my desk for an hour today and I just want to go hide. You know those days? Like if you could disappear forever by counting to ten, you’d have counted to 9 3/4 seventy times by now? Yeah.

And at the same time, I’m thinking about opening a money market account. Puppytails, your lady is hurting. Her nails are at jagged angles and the air’s a little too sharp today. She just doesn’t know how to shake that nasty funk.

Unrelated: Last night I saw the documentary “24 Hours on Craig’s List” at the Siskel Film Center. It is Netflix-worthy. And while I don’t want to blow my load talking about it here because I’m writing my Public Notice column on it this week in GapersBlock, it was good and funny and sad and scary. Like CL itself.

The sunset was one of those brilliant violet ones, with streaks of red and stars hung big and full. And there she was, holding on to the railing, waiting for the sun to at last peep below the hills. Behind her there were cars racing and below her was the sea boiling. But all she paid attention to was the silkiness of the railing’s wood beneath her fingers. Stroke, stroke where everyone had before. When the sun finally sank, the gulls cried their atonal lament and pushed off the rocks. And she turned away and back to the path, her scarf trailing behind her in the dirt.