I Love Peaches! (That's All I Wanted To Say)

sometimes i long for clean grief, mine or someone else's, but maybe only death gives out that kind. still i can't go looking for death, i'm too tired.

sick

and if i feel as though i'm slipping through fences, all of them whitewashed and none of them real, you won't help me, will you. set them up over and over, agility trials, whippet thin and sad. can't be cool anymore. can't. just can't. you ruin things. you ruin good things. lovely, perfect things. turning tables, gathering friends, father's anger, mother's absence. feel better on the other side of what's good for us? we haven't changed places, you know. i'm still here and telling you straight this is queer.

and if i put you in that place and tie my colors on your arm, over the dozens of other colors you nobly wear, you won't be able to bend your arm anymore, will you. so, give me back that scrap. i understand what it does to you now. never knew i'd be wanting a knight, white charger, white powder, white bullshit. you show me what a man is and i'm sorry now. i'm sorry. so sorry. i don't want to know anymore. don't show me anymore.

and if i try to speak the truth, it won't be heard, will it. nothing makes me glad like the truth. the truth when you speak it. when i do it, though, and you can't even see, smoke and mirrors, saved pride, saved face, saved pennies, it's guaranteed to make me sad. mismatch. misspoke. mistake. bad, bad mistake.

and if i spend time in the stacks, reading to know i am not alone, reading to forget myself, to forget who we are, well, that won't help me, will it. knowing is a weariness that settles down into my bones. everyone i've ever forgotten and tried to leave, tried to unknow, unlove, unwant, unseek, is with me still. the pain of every single time strings together like a necklace of stones i didn't buy. take back the gift. take it back. you shouldn't have. you really shouldn't have.

Get Some

David Blanchflower, an economics professor at Dartmouth, published findings recently from a study that included thousands of people in 35 nations, indicating that if you're single or in a miserable marriage, you'd need to earn $100,000 more per year than you already do to be as happy as a happily married person.

It gives me pause- I may need to honestly reassess the pep talk I give single friends when they're bummed out over their lack of a love affair. Plus, it makes me rethink the supposed nobility of undying dedication to crappola marriages. When one person is willing to give and grow (and all those other silly sounding but ultimately vital sorts of relationship things) and the other isn't- well, maybe divorce is a heckuva lot more important than hanging on.

When do you judge a time's up, though? Do you wait for more research? Or just do a gut check? We Americans gut check ourselves out of over half of the marriages we get into. I'm sure there's a brilliant balance to be had somewhere between trying like hell and knowing it's best to move on when it's not working and it's not your fault. Hmmm...

Blanchflower also found that if you have sex just once a month, you'd need to earn $50,000 more a year to be as happy as someone having sex once a week with a monogamous partner. Which reminds me that some couples write a mandatory minimum of sex four times a week into their prenups. Yeah, non sequitur, I know. My brain jumps around.

Anyhoo, all this from an economics professor. Which reminds me that you should duffinitely read Freakonomics by Levitt and Dubner. More "economics will explain everything" stuff and a lot of it completely counterintuitive and really eye opening.

I'm not heeling you to hook you.

Ah, it was lovely. Maybe this movie wasn't quite right in the head, but when Joseph Gordon-Levitt showed up like a grown-ass man who couldn't be told he was still living a boy's life, well, I got it.

Now, I've gotta run. You stay parked.

It's Old, It's New

It's not news (sometimes it is, though) but I like it. *pat, pat, pat* I'm thinking of what I can possibly contribute. Something factually incorrect, hopefully, so that I can watch the good people of the world stream like little ants all over the debris I leave, carting off the useless bits and turning the rest into fossil fuel. Or something.

H+P's back.

Spring Schedule

Please step back from the painting, m'am. And, sir, you are not allowed to have a camera in here. Egyptian Photography in the 21st Century is in the next room. No, that next room. No problem. Happy to help.

maybe you're my mickey rooney

and i'm your judy g. and we can fool around with other people but we're idiots not to be happy together.

maybe i know you better. maybe i like you best. maybe if i've got to disappoint anybody (or be disappointed) i'd rather break up with your brother. (maybe those aren't even options. maybe those aren't the only options. maybe i'm grateful. maybe i'm an ingrate.)

maybe life is messy. maybe a girl's got a right to change her mind. maybe you're turning into popeye. maybe i'm turning japanese. (or maybe not.)

maybe this is all moot. maybe we're having a fight. are we having a fight? do you egregiously disagree with me right now? maybe my stomach doesn't hurt anymore. maybe i won't tell you though. maybe i will.

maybe we should be on that show. maybe i will flash the audience. probably not. maybe the producers will offer me more money. maybe i'll reconsider. no? oh, well.

maybe you two will wrestle and i'll slap you both for good measure. maybe you'll insult each other and the audience won't know you're in love. (but not with me.) maybe we make a fine show. maybe it'll get ugly. maybe?!

maybe i will fling down my mic and flounce off stage only to return thirty seconds later with more energy, more emotion and more bad wannabe poetry. (only fitting.) maybe i'm going to have to laugh at myself when i watch this later. maybe you're gonna have to laugh, too. daryk will have to laugh by himself.

maybe everybody needs to shut up now. i said shut up!

i wanna hear jerry's final thoughts. i just know they're gonna change my life.