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

Was spent pedaling around Golden Gate Park and loading up on fancy vegan food. Then a hip lit cabbie zoomed us up and down the streets of Nob Hill. Oh, yeah, and listening to a drunk conventioner puke in a Sheraton parking lot. Thanks, Hotwire.com.

This morning, I woke up and did not want to get on the plane. Didn’t want to go through another panic attack, the stress, the pure emotional exhaustion of living life paralyzed with fear.

So I decided I wasn’t going to have a panic attack. And I didn’t. I laughed out loud for three hours reading this awesome Chuck Klosterman book (btw, I am hot for him and his adorable mop of witty, witty hair), listened to my iPod, and was perfectly calm.

Has the spell broken? Don’t know. But if I will it hard enough, it will be.

(I hope)

I was walking to the Grind, my fave little Lincoln Square coffee shop, and I passed this no-parking pole. And on it was bolted a 5 by 7 artboard by Saro, a Chicago street artist.

The thing is, I knew to look for this board because another street artist told me that he and Saro had been up in Lincoln Square. But would I have noticed it had I not been looking for it? And how many other people have walked by this tiny little gem of creativity, interaction and life in front of the Davis Theatre?

It’s things like that that remind me to just open my eyes from time to time.