Yet another reason why I love Cormac McCarthy...

No Country for Old Men - pg 22

Infinite.

Yesterday I veered off my set reading course with much delight and started The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a book Quinn recommended some time ago after we spent an afternoon listening to his Smiths records.  I was laying on the couch drifting in and out of consciousness, blurring Morrissey's dream world with my own when "Asleep" started to play.  I swear, I have never heard something so sweet and melancholy in my life.  I just sat up and listened...and Quinn went to the bookcase and moved it to my designated reading pile.  He knew Charlie and I would get along.

And I don't know why, but yesterday I just felt hungry and pulled it off the shelf.  I honestly think it was the green color.  I needed some lime green in my life.  So I went to my bed, closed the door and a hundred pages later the only way I could coax myself to sleep was to play "Asleep" on repeat.  It loops magnificently.

I once read in Rob Sheffield's, Love Is A Mix Tape, how he made a tape with his dad with nothing but "Hey Jude" on both sides.  I always thought that sounded magical, but couldn't think of many songs that could fade in and out seamlessly into itself like that.   But "Asleep" can.  So I fell asleep to "Asleep."  It's probably the most angsty, teen-ridden thing I've done as an adult.  But it was perfect.  Just a perfect moment.  I hope everyone has a song like that.

Anyways, I finished the book today.  I sat outside, climbed my first anything really, and sat on the island till my legs went numb, trying to read the last words under a melting sherbert glow.  I feel stirred.  I don't know what else to say.  But I feel glad to be me, and I'm thankful for my friends and family, and friends that are family.  And I hope when someone picks up something I write one day, I can make them feel that way, too.

A New Hope

Sometimes, without any warning, my heart melts.  Inexplicably.  It pulsates, it moves, it grows wild.  And none of my reasoning can stand against it.  By all accounts, this world is a hard place—full of hard people and hard things.  But I find I can't stop hoping in it...even when I want to.  The truth is I've seen too much good, been dusted off too often, been held too genuinely, been sacrificed for one too many times to pretend that things like Love and beauty and refuge don't exist.

I find that's Grace.  And as terribly inconvenient as it may be, may I forever burst at the seams with it.

Traveling Mercies

I wanted to board a plane today, to anywhere really, but found myself in that ever-American predicament of being richer than 93% of the world, but not rich enough to see it.  So I went home and traveled the only way I knew how—I applied the brightest shade of red polish I could find (O.P.I.'s The Thrill of Brazil) and sat in my room and spun a little Jets to Brazil.

I thank God for the little things that keep me sane and hungry.


Song of the Moment: Cat Heaven by Jets to Brazil (Perfecting Loneliness)
Some things interweave so intimately with your soul it becomes part of your identity.  Not superficially but spiritually.  That is this band for me.  That is this album.  Every person should lay in the dark and listen to it and know they are understood and seen.

So, Captain please consider me
Let the boats deliver me when I close my eyes, 
Drive, Captain, drive.
'Cause it's time for everything to be perfect.
For everything to stop hurting.
Tonight.

The End Is Not The End

Yesterday, I stood in the same room as Death.  And it made me want to kiss the world on the mouth.  If only to remind us we're still alive—still love left to give.

A Good Man Is Hard To Find...

Dear Mysterious Shop Man,

Thank you for opening the door for me, even though we were entering Fry's Marketplace which meant the doors already open for you.  Still, you had to stand in front of the sensors until I walked past.  That shit is awkward, nevertheless classy, and made me feel like a real lady.  I appreciated it...even though it made me speed up my pace so your idleness wouldn't alarm the greeter. 

Dear Mister Pita Greek Man,

Thank you for talking shit and scowling disapprovingly at my male company for not buying my dinner.  Even though I explained to you that we were just friends and he was kind enough to drive me there despite the fact it was fifteen minutes out of his way to pick me up, your retort of, "It doesn't matter darling, for you I'd always buy your dinner.  You should always be taken care of!" made me smile.  It also amused me that you waited to call his number till my food was done, and then ambushed him with three plates and a basket of pita to balance all the way back to the table with two hands.  While your curtness did not charm said company (and said company was unjustly misunderstood), your sweetness was not lost on me.  Your fierceness made me feel precious...and also scour the internet for deals on international flights to Greece.

Dear Random Friend-of-a-Friend I'll Never Meet Again,

Thank you for telling me I have a beautiful smile, even though you interrupted me half-way through a sentence in order to do so.  While I normally would have dismissed such flattery as ill-timed cheesiness, your need for immediacy reminded me that some things need to be said candidly in order to retain sincerity.  Your elderly age might also have had something to do with the degree of adorableness I attached to your sentiment, regardless, I welcome such interruptions in life.  It made me feel pretty.

Dear Check-Out Man Hovering Over The Self-Service Center,

Thank you for abandoning your station to walk to counter U-2 to affectionately remind me to key in my alternate ID before paying for my groceries so I'd save on every cent due to me.  While I had every intention of doing this as soon as I finished scanning my items so I could use the $5.00 I saved to purchase a venti coffee, I appreciated the fact that you did not say this with disdain or carelessness as I have come to expect with the other check-out kid who doesn't say anything at all, but whose eyeliner clearly highlights the excruciating annoyance he finds in my presence.  While I suspect your sympathies were tipped off by the disheveled demeanor of a college kid about to camp-out in their kitchen for two days to write a research paper, your concern and attention to detail made me feel valued and seen (despite the fact I was hiding behind large, dark glasses to remain unseen).

Reflecting on your quiet acts of courtesy conducted out of selflessness—sometimes requiring you look like a fool, or a jerk, unsociable, or a creeper—makes me feel real bad about the crappy company we tend to lump you in.  Like the asshole in the '96 pickup that slows down to stare at me all the way through the intersection.  He's just nasty.  But sometimes...sometimes, we women don't pay close enough attention, and for that I'm sorry.  I would like to formally thank you for your efforts, knowing full-well they could be misunderstood and used against you.

You're sexy beasts.

Sincerely,
Abbie