This has been a head-in-the-blender week for sure. Therefore, favorite text received so far today:
R: Beer after wk?
Me: Oh god YES! This f'd up week calls for Schwartzbier, friend.
Well then.
I'll write more about August later. There's a bunch of stuff swirling around in my head about it. It's one of my recurring themes, for some reason.
Have I ever linked to Bird in the Hand? It's Lisa Congdon's stream on Flickr, where she posts an illustration on a sticky note every day. I don't visit it enough, but I love it. I'm slowly but surely finishing up the BlogHer photo set. My house is so, so hot that it's actually making me tired enough to fall asleep at a regular hour, which is probably a good thing, all things considered. I also like that I actually have so much more sunlight in my room than I have since I lived with my grandparents in high school. It's going to be just gorgeous in the fall and make the winter much more light-filled, hopefully, so I'm not so bothered by the heat in the summer. I'm starting to think that air conditioning screws with my sinuses a lot, because not having it has actually helped. It seems that I breathe better at night, even with my sleeping/breathing issues...and the fans also bring the white noise action, which is actually kind of relaxing.
Rationalizing heat stroke. I've reached a new level of mental gymnastics. I'm supposed to be outside for the Virgin Festival shenanigans all day in Baltimore tomorrow, when it's supposed to be a balmy 97 degrees with high humidity like only the MidAtlantic can bring it. Check back with me on the whole "I love the heat" thing when I report live from the first aid tent. I hope they have plenty of water in the rave tent for those crazy kids.
If you've had a trying time, I highly recommend cultivating a friendship with someone who will let you cry into the phone only like a person who's been trying not to cry for real for a long time can. As in, that person can rock the shit out of the whole crying enterprise, getting tears in the receiver and eyes swelling up like...er, something that swells up....and snuffling out, "I'm not AVAILABLE" when someone knocks on the door. Because of course no one's knocked on the door all day, until you hit this particular wall. Whoever Murphy was, I'd like to kick his ass sometimes. And also, that friend should promptly invite you down for a Peruvian chicken and shrimp and orzo salad and vanilla ice cream with peachy rum sauce dinner. And let you sit on your ass and upload a hundred pictures via her neighbor's stolen wireless while conversing.
I recommend these types of friends. I'm incredibly lucky I've got a couple, but only one who cooks for me.
Speaking of tears, my favorite search terms that have led people here in the past week are "washing jesus' feet with tears" and "topples dancers." Dancers that topple. I can't believe I ever wrote the word "topple", or anything remotely resembling the first phrase, but in this world where we're all just Google's bitches, I'll have to take their word for it.
= Me, happy it's Friday.
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