Eat All the Foods

Cheese. Korean Ovalette Noodles. Bread. Cookies. Muffins. Butter. Ice Cream. Oatmeal. Olives. Pickled Radish. Pickled ginger. Earl Gray Tea. Good Earth Original Tea. Custard. Doughnuts. Vietnamese Style Coffee. Coffee. Battambang's Special Noodle. Bleu Cheese Dressing. Strawberries. Pineapple. Horseradish. Potatoes. Garden Fresh Lettuce. Mint Tea. Irish Cream. Rum. Kahlua. Margaritas. Broccoli. Biscuits. Tomato sauce. Huckleberries. Cheesecake. Dirty Dirty Dirty Martinis. French Fries. Thick Yogurt. Raisins Covered in Chocolate. Pretty Much Anything Covered in Chocolate. More Cheese.

Look out the nearest window. Describe what you see.

I see the grey white of a sky threatening to snow again, for the third
time so far this winter. Sky normally ashen gray in Seattle, pushing
us all into our passive aggressive pastimes. This isn't what I want to
write about it. I shouldn't have read the facebook posts of others,
the better ones, the ones who can write already, who haven't forgotten
their own plots--are so busy knowing their syntax, their arias and
auras. But here I am, Sweet Mozart, forgive me for trying to match my
keystrokes to your brusque musician delivered sounds. Here is a window
I want: the one that faces the garden, the garden filled with
vegetables in full blush, kiwi fruits thick on the vines. The garden
with overflowing lust--dripping with flowers and heavy with bees. The
garden with a muslin draped arbor, a chair in the shade. Tea on the
table in perfect china cups. Another window: the art studio in the
corner of the garden, looking in from the tall windows in front. A
painting on the easel that is begs to be touched up, altered, changed
and changed again. My sewing table draped with cloth--shelves of
fabric along one wall. Bins and drawers and glass jars with bits of
ribbon and shelf upon shelf of scissors and thread and paint. Here is
the window I wish I wanted: the one I can see right now, reflecting
back at me a better version of myself. One who doesn't spend her time
avoiding herself. A reflection of a better woman--prettier, skinnier,
successful, and smart. I wish I wanted to be here and be better, but I
don't. I want the garden and the art. The space to make and make and
make and read and draw and laugh. I want parties and new friends and I
want to feel brave and get over feeling fat. I'm tired of feeling
myself hustle and hustle.

Pick Out 3 Things That Are Beautiful

1. The beautiful grace of the philodendron, sitting on the corner of the accounting desk in my stuffy little office; it's bright lime and apple green stripes.

2. The triset wedding photo that Retardo put together that I'm having printed right on my updated credit card so that I have a reminder that love and relationships are more important than things and stuff.

3. My work rocks. The pile of them placed by my fan, especially the hole-y one from the Columbia River Gorge and the smooth ones I inherited when I moved from small room to small room in this office.