i'll let you know when i get there

christmas eve finds me in the airport.  i remember my trip home a few years ago found me frantically trying to finish homemade-heartfelt christmas letters and gifts for everyone.  i'm not that girl anymore.  last year all i wanted to do was take pictures.  this year, my camera is here, but stowed away.  no compulsive urge.  this year, i don't really know who i am or what i'm about. the airport begs for us to make snapshot judgments of others.  encounters are fleeting but revealing.  in a single visual or audio instant, i can whittle down a person's existence to a single word or defining feature.   WEALTHY.  JET-SETTER.  GAY.  MOTHER.  CHRISTIAN.  BOHEMIAN.  SOUTHERN.  BOYFRIEND.   TECHIE.  STUDENT.   the thing is, the observation game quickly kicks back and make me wonder about my own word- my own boiled down identity.  this year, i find myself lacking.  i'm a thirty somethi...

1.  robots are more and more ubiquitous.  for the record, i'd like to state that i am pro-robot.  a healthy dose of caution, but pro for certain. 2.  we did not visit this time around.  maybe there wasn't a time around.  maybe next time.  next time, i hope. 3.  all those girls quoting joni mitchell around this time of the year.  all those girls in their beautiful existential existences. 4.  a person so small and a world so alive.  a single smile stretches on and on when you've only been alive for six days.  i love that little buddy.  i'm glad about life.  potential. 5.  nervous and unsure.

Chaos in the middle and the door locked tight.  The trash is full.  The weight is over the limit.  So tangible, it may as well be real. It may as well be real. Clinton those words. A semantic slur of deceptive intent. the letter, the spirit and a troubled heart on defense. An outlaw, no doubt.

tis the season to buy yourself hair extensions online in a moment of temporary insanity.  it's the most wonderful time of the year. also:

11:13 and i'd already brushed my teeth but now i find myself eating whole pickles in bed

like a cat like a cat sudden bursts of wild energy and here's why: fear and/or joy staring at phantom walls where a mirror used to be a whole world of similar molds dangerous and close and calling calling calling attention, please and then in it -under it- back up and lean in kneading kneading some warm crawl space to disappear to when i can't see through fears and phantoms find me there, behind the clothes. find me.

oh, hello. thanksgiving break allowed me to slow down my pace a little and actually think.  i miss thinking.  sunday morning, i watched a few too many biographical documentaries about artists and i ended up feeling a little loopy.  and then there was the 9/11 doc that left me with some capital S serious questions- but that's for another time.  hopefully soon, maybe never. i'd like to articulate a brief quandary that just popped into my head JUST now.  which is no longer now.  you get it. So one one hand, there's that cliche "to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result is the definition of insanity."  It's been attributed to pretty much everyone- from ol' Benny Franklin to Einstein and probably Betty White for good measure.  It creeps up as hard evidence any time anyone wants to judge others for some sort of stagnation or stubbornness. but then there's that pesky other hand. Isn't doing the same thing over and over an...