Maybe all we are is creation's translators, putting things like granite or oak or elephant or corn in a language they want to be put in, to give them bodies made of sound so they're measurable. "Measurable" sounds like "miserable" when I pronounce it. ~ Fire Exit, Morgan Talty

nothing really changes - slow leaves

 

I am in a mood, though all is well. Relatively. I am often in this mood. Then I do an inventory, trying to figure it out, a somewhat searching somewhat moral inventory: My job has been completely infused with the mounting catastrophe that is healthcare in this country + the growing crisis of purpose that is tanking higher education. So, that's not great, but objectively speaking it's okay for my career until the apocalypse; the kids are fine. Relatively; I'm in a stable relationship. Relatively; I have my health. Relatively. I'm curled up with a dog on my feet right now, reading a book. So. Why this mood? A kind of crabby waiting, as if at a red light that's taking for fucking ever.

Maybe it's bugging me that Ex is marrying M today. The dispatches from TJ from the backyard affair are priceless (M---a walks down the stairs this morning, holds her arms open like Christ awaiting the first nail, and says "I am so full of dread!" in a chipper tone.) I feel droll about it. Like, how many backyard weddings are we all going to have racked up at the rate we bang them out apx once a decade? 🤔🙄