Friday, May 13, 2011

Clown car of broken plates ...

Mediterranean Night: I made garlic hummus, chopped up some vegetables and boiled some couscous. Chuck loaded up a plate. I opened the cupboard and an entire pile of mini plates and bowls cascaded from the top shelf. It was visually stunning. Like the opposite of fireworks. All these things falling and breaking, pieces everywhere -- including in the hummus. We both just stopped and watched. Later I would find green pieces 10 feet away by the refrigerator.

Haunted house or precariously balanced dishes. Either way it was interesting. I ate the hummus anyway, risking the shards. I didn't really care about the loss because who needs like 30 small plates? I'm sure I'll eat these words when I host a bunch of blue hairs for some sort of tea party. Until then, I love an excuse to throw stuff away.


I have four days to do with what I will. My plan was to live like a novelist. Crank out some words on the piece of fiction I have in the hopper. Be wholly dedicated to this. See if I can dedicate time to writing when I have endless time to write.

I woke up Thursday morning with a wicked cold instead. A debilitating cold. I can't remember the last time I had a cold-cold. Was it last year? Was it this past winter? Was it three years ago? Who knows. I had to ask Chuck to remind me how long they last, how to get them to go away. Instead of spending Day 1 living like a novelist I spend Day 1 living like an invalid. If I hadn't had the day off, I'd have taken the day off.

Then it was like trying to stop every part of my body from leaking fluids, even though the fluids were exclusive to my nose. So many explosions of sneeze. I went to Walgreens and played supermarket sweep, loading up a shopping cart with drugs and orange juice and Gatorade and cough drops. This is my favorite part of being sick.

Then I watched a mini documentary about Justin Bieber, just because I was sick. And curious about this child heartthrob.


Sometimes I need to go in public and sometimes this interferes with my need to live like a yurt owner who hasn't experienced running water in the past decade. When this crisis pops up, I dress in all black, pull a hat over my eyes and try to distract people into thinking I'm a celebrity on a Starbucks run. Britney Spears caught slumming by TMZ.


Pro Tip: When there is a long line at the cash wrap at Barnes & Noble, you can cheat and buy your books in the cafe. It's very edgy. The barista will recognize you as an insider when she asks "Do you want anything to drink?" and you say "No. Just the book." That look she gives you is a look of respect. "How did you know?" she's asking with her eyes. I used to work at Barnes & Noble.


A woman is walking down the street with a wiener dog. He makes a beeline toward our yard. Something is off in his gait. She comes after him, lifts him up and puts him back on the sidewalk. "We're rehabbing," she tells me. She's got leashes wrapped around his hind end. The wiener dog is a paraplegic wiener dog who recently had surgery on his back. The surgery didn't take. Now when she walks him, she has to keep his back to legs elevated while he sprints along on his front legs. He's a speedy little sucker. Full of zip. "You should buy him one of those little carts with wheels," I say. How cute would that be? "I know," she says. "They're like 300 dollars." "No!" I say, imagine making one for him myself.

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