What to do when a bird gets stuck in your house


There’s power in that wind

I’ve been spending a lot of dreamy time these days on a 15 year old breeze.  An almost forgotten name popped up on some website or another, and after a series of rabbit holes and poking around in digital cardboard boxes, I’ve come face-to-face with a previous self.

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She was brave, braver than I am these days.  She also cussed a lot, probably to cover up some of the insecurities of all that bravado.

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It’s raining today, for the first time in what feels like months.  It came out of nowhere on my morning run, leaving me out of breath and a dripping ponytail.  I could feel the ground beneath my feet opening up, grateful for something it hadn’t realized it needed.



profundity
12 August 2008, 6:42 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , ,

I keep on waiting for inspiration to strike, but quite frankly, I’m not sure what level of disclosure I’m comfortable with yet.  But since I’ve got a big glass of wine chasing down a shitty day, and since R has yet to come home and the Olympics are boring, I pulled up a chair to my own dis-ease and thought I’d throw some words out to the non-existent ether.

I used to do this thing: 100words.net.  Through rain, cold, disease, continents, heartache, beauty, sweat, tears, and awestruck thunder, I wrote down 100 words every single effing day for 4 years.  Not all of them were posted (I was in Africa in pre-Internet days) not all of them exist anymore, but I googled my old webfriend Jeff Koyen the other day and there it was.  A grainy image of a grainy former self, full of wonder at San Francisco and wondering what would happen next.  This was before airplanes took down buildings, before I broke my first heart, before I knew what Cipro tasted like if you accidentally got it wet.  I touched the screen, wanted to feel what I felt like.  All I ended up with was a slight static electricity shock and a lump in my throat.  I am not sentimental and firmly believe that we should roll through life without the constant judgment  nostalgia implies.  But damn.  I love that fragile version of a shadow self.  I want to hold her close, throw her ideas into the sky and lie to her about what comes next.