sickness

I am pathetically sick today. Sniffles, snot, and lots of body-wracking coughs. I am making myself sorry for myself, and that sucks. to that end, I am posting a few feel-good images that make me smile.

Flowers my husband got me after a terrible day, for no reason other than I sounded stressed on the phone. What a great guy! He surely does take care of me. :)
This is "big bunny". He sat in our backyard for about a week under this fallen branch. He was so fluffy and yet, somehow pissed-looking, we couldn't bear to scare him off.

becoming a recssionista

On the way home the other night, I started to think about money, and I got really depressed. In fact, it's fairly accurate to say I threw a full-out pity party, tears and shaking the steering wheel. The whole she-bang. I thought, we are young and just starting out in life~why should things go to shit just now? I mean, I have dreams. I have goals. I have a direction, vague though it may be, that I want my life to go in. To feel the general population throw a big, fat wet blanket--named Crappy Economy--on that...It's not fair.

Still, I want to make the best of it. Jake and I have talked about reigning in our spending, figuring out ways to "make do" with what we have, even if that takes a little creativity.
It seems I'm not the only one tense and anticipating a strapped-down, low-cash life.
Joann from Cup of Jo blog found these bottles of "recession wine"~perfect for the thrifty vinophile.


I love these pieces from Poppytalk's affordable art guide. The last one is a piece by Olivia Jeffries entitled "Stand Tall", which I think is a message to me (and anyone else depressed by their tiny bank accounts and tinier job prospects). I think about my grandparents, children of the Great Depression. They made their way through times of want and plenty...cheerfully. That plucky can-do spirit is an inspiration to me, coming from a generation of "if I go to college then I will get a good job and be set for life." It's looking like it will take a bit more creativity than that. It is time to stand tall, muster courage, and sink our hands into a dirty pile of figure-it-out-as-you-go work. Maybe I've had just enough caffeine today to feel up to the task. But, deep breathe...here we go!

imagination floats

I found this picture and I really love it. It makes me feel fanciful and giggly. A nice feeling in the midst of a night class where the room is 85 degrees and the lecture is entertaining...if a little maddening.
The election will be over tomorrow. And I couldn't be more excited. Maybe we'll all be more relaxed.
Helium, anyone?

rock the vote

Why do I vote?

It's a question I've been repeating to myself over and over throughout this election year. The temptation to throw up my hands and shake my weary head and say, "that's it! I give up," is very great. While I could probably ramble on and on about the condition of the modern political landscape and "lesser of two evils" crap, I will keep myself to the positives.

I vote because:

1. I can. The 19th Amendment was ratified in 1920, and in honor of women everywhere who've fought for suffrage, especially those who have not yet attained it, I will exercise my right.

2. No one likes a complainer. If I don't vote, I have no room to gripe if things in government aren't going my way.

3. Other than that, I'm not really sure. I feel frustrated with the negatives, and I'm clinging to these two reasons to cast my vote in this coming election.

Like I said before, why do I vote?

carpal tunal

My hand hurts. I have been writing and typing a lot lately, and the tendons and ligaments in my right wrist are worn out. It is a disconcerting feeling. My hand has been hurting for about a week; hurts to cook, hurts to fold things, hurts to open packages I get in the mail. I am young yet, how am I debilitated? This does not bring the most pleasant contemplations...I am already neurotic.

This has led to me to contemplate my ability to tough-it-out. For instance, even as I type this, my wrist right before my thumb is pulsating a little bit. Does that mean I should not write? When the first paragraph comes easy, and then you hit the wall, well, then what? Do you give up and snap the laptop shut? Tonight, I prefer to keep listening to Thom Yorke croon at me through the speakers, and to write. WRITE. I may just be typing into this blog, with no other purpose than to put some words out there, but I will type.

My friend told me the other day that Thom Yorke must smell like rasberries. It makes me laugh, because of course. What else would he smell like? If someone were to distill me down to a fragrance, I wonder what it would be. Would it be something flowery, like tulips or something fresh like grapefruit or cut-grass? I would like to think that it would be a very light, alive scent....maybe like an ocean wave or a crisp breeze. I would like to be a refreshing smell. I would always like to make others happy. At once, a great strength and precarious danger.

Now, I should go to bed. Exercise completed for the night.

fuzzy

Today I feel a little blurry, a little not-with-it. I got enough sleep last night. My list to stuff to-do today is not gigantic. All-in-all, I have no excuse feeling so fuzzy. But maybe that's it right there: no excuses, no demands. I am not really "required" to be sharp today. It will not be an incredibly busy day, and maybe that's exactly what makes my brain ease up. Not really necessary to be in overdrive if you don't have a day that demands it. It just makes me reflect on how busy I allow myself to be at times. There are days when I don't even have a minute to sit with my cup of coffee and think about...whatever. And, as I would tell any writing student, reflection is integral...so why would I not make it a priority? Too busy? Is that a cop-out? A dear friend of mine always makes time. MAKES time to reflect, to create. He is never "too busy" to do something that feeds his spirit. I run around doing so many things, and I blame my lack of focus on the slew of shit that I have cobbled to myself and tied to me, like so many tangled streamers. It is really within me to say "no", to pause and to work some of the knots. It might also give me time to reflect, to not be so fuzzy.

working the rust out

I've been doing some thinking recently about roots, being anchored in who one is, regardless of where one lives. Anchors have a rich history as a symbol of staying power. I read about the image above that it was particularly popular as a grave-stone symbol for early Christians, who would use it to disguise crosses, or to reference Hebrews 6:
17 Wherein God, willing more abundantly to show unto the heirs of promise the immutability of his counsel, confirmed it by an oath:
18 that by two immutable things, in which it was impossible for God to lie, we might have a strong consolation, who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us:
19 which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which entereth into that within the veil;
20 whither the forerunner is for us entered, even Jesus, made a high priest for ever after the order of Melchiz'edek.


The symbol is, on the surface, a simple one. Literal anchors keep boats from floating away on the open sea. They are a physical representation of safety, ensuring that nothing is lost.


I feel like I need to go to this restaurant! The food be what it may, I am a sucker for a well-named establishment, especially one that appeals to my overdeveloped sensitivity to symbols. The name of this place, "Anchor and Hope", reinforces that Hebrews 6 connection that I find personally rich and meaningful.

*Question that came up in conversation last night: Do things rust quicker or slower at the bottom of the ocean than they do at the surface? We thought that the water (duh) and salt might speed up the process, but that the pressure and temperature might slow it down....


A picture I took on our first visit to Gloucester. Seems I've had anchors on the brain longer than I'd realized.