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

It’s been a long week in a longer month in the longest year. But the best part of my week was remembering how wonderful some people in my life are and what complete crap some people who need to leave my life are. And that contrast has been so severe, so stark as to make me totally reevaluate a lot of stuff.

I’m exhausted! And it’s Sunday. But there’s a blueberry-ginger granita in my fridge and great pictures on my camera waiting to go on Flickr. Things could be a lot worse!

Why is it that I can always tell that it’s going to rain, but never have an umbrella? At least I’m okay getting wet and knowing that soon, I’ll be dry again. You’d think, though, that nearly three decades of this would mean that I’d have an umbrella in every bag, every drawer. But no.

The last time I bought an umbrella, a few months ago, was a disaster. I ended up tripping on the sidewalk, scraping my knee, and breaking the umbrella. And because I like to draw conclusions, the one I drew that night, laughing on my back on the damp concrete, was that of course I fell because of the umbrella. And that it’s best to know of the dangers ahead, to watch out for them with open eyes and empty hands rather than dry hair and distraction.

Or maybe I should just buy an umbrella, pay attention, and stop talking to myself so much. Whatever.

Yesterday, I walked over to pick up the box of organic vegetables that we purchased via subscription. And it’s not an inconsequential walk. But I had my iPod and my phone and good new music. I grabbed the box, which had to weigh a good 20 lbs., and walk a few blocks to the train station. And then nearly a mile home. With this burden in my hands, on my hip, on my shoulder.

When I finally set the box down, I nearly wept with relief.