Secrets

Thoughts on a thunderous Wednesday afternoon:

– I want to be a WRITER today! But I have nothing to say. Nothing at all. I should finish that short story that’s been dragging on for a year…

– If I were rich, I would spend an embarrassingly large amount of money on skincare products and makeup.

– I feel guilty about wanting a purebred puppy.

– We had a freak hailstorm and a flash flood last night. It was terrifying and beautiful. I was working on a calligraphy job and watching it all happen on the street and I kept telling myself, “Just be calm, keep writing, be calm…” As if my life were in danger or something.

– I discovered Pinterest today. Oops. Goodbye, productivity!

– Grace needs to come home. NOW.

Gilead is a lovely book. I can’t describe what it is, but I think a “hushed beauty” is the best phrase I can come up with on the fly. Can anyone tell me what denomination he is, though? He’s not Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian, Pentecostal, Quaker… what’s left?

– Remember how we thought we were important in college? Turns out we weren’t.

– Barack Obama released his long-form birth certificate today. A nice gesture, but not even that will keep the crazies at bay. They’re sure to find something else to freak out about, particularly with Donald Trump at the helm.

– What do we have to do to convince Win to move to Charlottesville? Locals, any suggestions for things to see or do that might persuade someone that this is the best town on the east coast?

– I am so over Facebook.

– Nothing depresses me so much as reading comments on news sites. Are the only people who comment online both dumb AND angry? That is such a bad combination.

– It’s too hot to eat, too hot to dream, too hot to move your limbs above your head. We’re trying to save money by not turning on our A/C units for as long as possible. I was too hot this morning, so I had blackberries and a huge cup of tea for breakfast. Because even when it’s 80 degrees in your kitchen, a hot cup of tea will still be the best thing. Truth!

Raining and Pound

I think this is the best sentence in Joseph O’Neill’s Netherland so far:

“Not knowing what to say, I got up and stood next to him, and for a while we surveyed, twenty-two floors down, the roving black blooms of four-dollar umbrellas.”

It makes me think of the poem that invented imagism. And it is raining today–has been since I woke up at 6 and killed a silverfish on the bathroom floor and thought, “At least the window sill isn’t covered in water and at least it wasn’t a cockroach.”