Depth in a Spider’s Web


I got all overcome with a poetic impulse at lunch today.

I don’t write poetry! Okay, I have a few times when super stressed and depressed. But I don’t read poetry.

But maybe that’s a sign, a good sign, that my creativebrain is waking up again?

Maybe it would have been a depressing poem. Donno, I didn’t write one. I didn’t have any time to think of lines or wording. Lunch is only 30 minutes and I have to actually concentrate on eating during some of that time, right?

Anyway, I have a spot that I have my little lunch moment in. It’s outside, come rain, come shine, come snow and below zero temps. It’s behind a door, in a corner, where the big air conditioning units are. Cozy, right? ‘My’ spot used to be a few feet away in front of a window, and I’d put my drink and iPad on the sill. But that sill was for a window into a stall of the ladies’ room, and someone told me I scared the crap out of them (literally?) by standing RIGHT THERE and being a big creepy pervy shadow. After that I moved and now hide behind the door with my iPad on top of one of the AC units. Suits me better as the ‘shelf’ is higher, anyway.

Why do I have lunch there? Because I’m anti-social and I don’t want to talk about stupid TV shows in the ‘canteen’ with people I barely know. And I smoke. And I don’t smoke in the car unless it is moving and the window is down. I hate the way it makes my hair and clothes – and the car – smell.

An aside: we hired someone new and when I went to lunch she was outside smoking in my spot. I was not amused. I made sure she saw me reclaim my territory as soon as she moved out of it – and she apologised a few days later. I didn’t even need to pee on anything!

A second aside: people coming out of the door don’t always see me there, even though it is a glass door. As evidenced by the man who came outside and walked off, farting loudly and copiously. Eh. Better out than in, big guy, and I’m sure the woman in your office appreciates that you held all that in. At least there was a good breeze and my only sensory experience of his farts was auditory.

In my usual long winded way, I’m leading up to why I was waxing poetic.

There’s a spiderweb, you see. Oh wait, you can see!


I have looked at this thing at least three times a day, five days a week, for many months. I’ve found that the corpse of the crane fly (daddy longlegs over here, I got no idea why) particularly draws my eye. His legs are scattered and broken, but still stuck fast. I especially notice the one leg that is entirely removed and off to the left of the body. It annoys me that it is out of place, and not with the rest of the shell that used to be a fly. Just sort of a fleeting irritation, but I don’t want to touch it, remove it, duh, it’s a filthy dead bug. And I’m meant to eat with those fingers – and touch my iPad. And the sink is pretty far away.

Not that I actually plot all that out every day… I’m making myself sound more nuts than I am. I look, and look away. The decision was made months ago to leave it be – until today. Today, there was a new bit of…something…stuck to the wall. I just had to pick that whatever it was off the wall. And lo and behold, that one action got me started really, really thinking about the old spiderweb (and blathering about it on the Internet hours later, apparently).

I began drawing correlations between that web and myself: my thoughts, my history, and my future. The dead bugs – are they evocative of bad people in my past that I have managed to break free of? That was my initial idea. Thinking about it now… maybe they are something much darker. Maybe they are the guilt and regret that I feel about the people that I have made use of and then left behind when I moved on. The blown dirt and rubbish stuck there for so long made me think the things in life that have been thrown at me, the ones I was powerless to stop. The cigarette ashes… they are mine, both figuratively and literally. My mistakes, my stupidity, my many years of daily pig-headed obstinacy to keep doing things that are bad for me. That one is easy.

That is one seriously abandoned web. Nobody’s lived there in a while. No one has been tending the strands or cutting loose the detritus. No one cared enough to cut loose the strands that are coated in dirt and useless material – the crud that has blocked the web’s true use, its true purpose. Okay, for a real spider that’s mostly just catching dinner. But on a deeper inspection, it is also a home, a safe haven, and a place of security that a living being worked hard to intentionally create, for the purpose of bringing good and necessary things closer.

Maybe it isn’t poetry, but I think I have a mental image of needed change that finally makes sense to me.

I hope that someday soon I can post a photo of that same place with the useless net of garbage wiped clean and ready for new threads to be woven in place.

16 responses »

  1. Alright. Next time I decide to read some blog during dinner, I’ll click on some Dianda’s post rather than yours. Her posts generally taste better 😛

    [quote]At least there was a good breeze and my only sensory experience of his farts was auditory.[/quote]

    Nothing particular to say on that one quote, it’s just a sentence that caught my deeper attention. I read it like 4 times. It’s just a well sentenced sentence (note the lack of vocabulary here), words just fit really well together. I wish I could sometimes get that kind of sentence out of my own fingers. Though that would be on a different topic, a different experience.

    Most of the time at work, we eat at some fastfood restaurant. Not necessarily the bad ones (though that is the case most of the case), my assistant made me discover Thai Express several months back, and we now eat there everytime there is one nearby the store we are working at that day. If you don’t know the chain, they serve good meals, mainly based around pasta and rice. You pick a base, than you have a choice of sauce and ingredients. They have shrimps as one of the ingredients you can choose from, they aren’t bad, though it’s hard to appreciate them as much as before, now that I know what they taste like when they were fished in the morning. Ordering at McDonald is like “Number 3, take out”. Ordering at Thai Express is more like “2 A 5 with 7”, and you need to read the lit sign as you say it as you never remember what you decided on while you were waiting in line. Well, it’s still a fastfood because the meals are still served in just a few minutes, but it’s not classified as bad fast food because it tastes good and contains many nutrients, and I suppose few by-products.

    Well, I’m not usually looking to be alone at lunch time, so I appreciate these social moments with my employees in the restaurants. Sometimes, one of them brought a lunch that cannot be eaten in the car, so I got to take the lunch out and eat it with them in a backstore. Overtime, I learned how to set myself a table and chair using 5 empty milk crates turned over. One of the crate is for my ass… erm, arse, sorry. The other four makes a table just high enough to be confortable and large enough to read the newspaper. The meal is actually on my lap, not the table. I can still appreciate the social lunch time, read about what happened yesterday (though I already knew because I listen to talk radio in the car) and read what good they have to say about the person who died yesterday. And comment out loud about what idiocy our prime minister recently did.

    Some days (someone will have to explain me these rules — why is “sometimes” a single word while “some days” is two words? I’m kind of testing everytime (another one… “everytime” doesn’t work as a signle word neither) to see if there will be a fuzzy red line beneath the word to tell me it that one works or not). Wait, I’m pretty sure I had a sentence begun before that parentheses… Yeah… Some days, I feel like eating alone. That moment of eating just with myself. As I arrive at the store (with the meals we picked on our way), my employees just get out of the car and get in the store to eat there. At that time, I just stay there, sitting behind the wheel, tune the radio to my talk radio and eat. Then without getting out of the car, I smoke my dessert. Then and only then, when I’m completely filled with emptiness, do I get in the store, show myself to the manager and prepare to work.

    I do need those moments of solitude too, but probably not as much as you do. I am very happy to be the only human in my apartment, surrounded by the cats, the gerbil, the crab and the stickleback (yeah, everything is singular but the cats, I’ll take care of that after I’ve moved). But I do need to socialize a lot too. That is one side I love about my job, this social aspect. I got 3-4 employees in my car everyday (see this one works as a single word), and the road ahead is sometimes for over an hour. They usually sleep in the morning (I can’t blame them, I was also sleeping in the car back when I was in their position, just over 3 years ago — I survive the road with a Monster and the talk radio), but it’s a real social moment when we head back home at the end of the day. Everyday, I’ve got to meat with different store managers, different clerks, different old ladies that think that because I am stuck for several minutes around the very same display of cans which are on special this month, unstacking them, counting them and restacking them, means that I am available to hear about their new grand-child.

    I don’t have many friends. Most of them founded a family or turned alcoholic. I can still spend some time with them, but I can’t take any of them out (for obvious different reasons). These social moments at work are perhaps what I need to remain sane, but most of the time I am very fine alone with my cats. And my computer.

    No, I don’t know why I wrote all this. But hey there’s a comment on your post 🙂

    • Yay for first comment! I was worried at the silence actually, so thank you!

      That line about the fart…I did go back and edit that before posting, and added in ‘sensory.’ Actually I did a lot of post-brain dump editing this time. I’m glad you like my manner of writing – beware, however, that I know English so well that I make up words quite often. That’s one of the reasons I like it – you can cobble together words and make new ones people understand.

      It’s really funny you mentioned the compound word difficulties! I had emailed myself from work yesterday just one line: ‘I do not like the word cannot.’ I want to say ‘can not.’ But I get that dammed squiggly red line underneath it. Something about cannot irritates me, it looks wrong!

      I eat odd things (apparently), and am incredibly picky (definitely), so take out isn’t an option. I’ve gotten good at food from home that doesn’t require heating up, at least. It gets even more uncomfortable for me when I have to use the microwave, I don’t want to have to explain myself. There is only one take out near my work, and it is the Irish version of McDonalds and there is not one thing I would eat. And it would cost me about €10 a day to buy food, whereas I can eat what I want for €1 or €2 at the most. I’d like that Thai place, though – it sounds decent. And I’d like your way of working, too – a small group I can work with. But my company is large and I don’t know, after a year, who the hell these people are. I have one coworker that I like, but her lunch is after mine. Oh well!

      What’s a Monster?

      • Oh well, you just called for a long reply, not sure if you realized that lol. I’ll try not to make it too long, I’m writing my next post right now. Yep, first one in a month. Should tell you things are settling a bit here.

        It’s actually a chance that I got able to read and reply your post the very same day you posted it (at least, it was still the same day for me, though the timezone setting on your blog made it appear the next day). Over the last weeks, I was barely able to read all the posts on all the blogs I’m subscribed to, which is very unusual for me. I suppose I needed to talk, and it ended up in that non-sense. You shouldn’t thank me for posting that, I should actually be thankful that your reply wasn’t “What the hell was that? Get off my blog and never return, you son of a female dog!”

        If you can’t understand the “cannot” being a compound word (thanks for teaching me that new word), can you figure how problematic it is for me, for whom English is a second language? Compound words don’t exist in French. I managed to understand them and accept them as part of the language over the years, but I never figured the rules. Sounds like there aren’t, or none that you could explain to me.

        I’m not very picky for food, except for things that don’t look or smell like food. Many of the so-called sea fruits fit in this category. Mussels. I can’t comprehend how people could eat that. It looks like an expired pack of fat stuck in a shell. It smells like someone who haven’t whipped their ass in a long time. I really don’t want to know what it tastes like. My brother once told me you have to swallow them very quickly, so you don’t have to taste them… so what’s the point?

        My lunches aren’t usually of the best quality, and my coworkers probably wonder how I manage to be this slim (I gave up explaining to them what diabetes does a long time ago), reality is I eat better at home for dinner. I am a good cook, I would be able to spend hours in a kitchen and prepare something that you would normally only find in a fine French restaurant (at one ninth of the price — I initially wanted to say 8th but couldn’t figure how it’s spelled). However, I hate cooking. I can accept to spend some time in the kitchen if the meal is to be shared with my son or some friend, but no way I will spend more than 10 minutes there to cook something just for myself. But preparing something fast doesn’t mean it has to be bad. Pick a meat, pick a sauce, pick two vegetables of two different colors, it’s quick and still healthy. I have became an expert at mixing five random ingredients from my fridge and making up a recipe without even thinking about it and ending up with something that actually smells and tastes good (though the final visual appearance of it would make me want to hide it if an unexpected guest was to arrive).

        At some point several years ago, back when I wasn’t the driver for the team, I was taking lunch to work which I had prepared at home (most often what was left from the yesterday’s dinner). But I work in c-stores (convenience stores or corner stores, pick the one which fits your local tradition) and I ended up always buying some potato chips, cheese curds, muffin, and a juice or Pepsi bottle (why the hell the rest of the world drinks Coca-Cola, we in Québec figured Pepsi tastes a lot better — we are in fact the only place in the world where Pepsi sells better than Coke). In the end, my lunch cost just as much as if I had been at the restaurant (and let’s admit it was Pepsi more often than juice, and chips more often than cheese… so it wasn’t healthier). Not better, not cheaper, and less convenient. Our c-stores have more chilled area than one could imagine, but only a fraction of it is inaccessible to customers, and therefore can be used for employee lunches (that was the lame explanation for the “less convenient” bit).

        Can I go personal in a comment on your blog? Yeah, I probably can do that. Who’s going to read it anyway? Perhaps Lahgitana, which I just met, which had that last non-sense as a first contact and incomprehensibly (aaaahhhh no fuzzy red line under that word — and managed to write it correctly the very first not even being sure it was a word) read it all and still be interested in me and even made a connection to it in her own comment. Maybe Dianda, but she knows most of my secrets by now anyway.

        I am really a shy person, someone who needs and wants to spend a lot of time alone. But none of those who know me could notice or conceive that. I want through it because I wanted to.

        Back at school, I was that guy that would spend lunch outside in the park, or under a staircase during the winter. I was arriving at school as late as possible so as not to have to spend much time around people, and fleeing out as quick as possible at the end of the day. I hated any team work. I was inventing a terrible illness to avoid showing up the day I was suppose to do a show n tell. I was unable to ask for help in a store, if I couldn’t find what I wanted by myself I would simply not buy it.

        Something changed when I entered college. Because the college was hours away from home, I had to find a place to live. Obviously, you cannot rent an apartment all by yourself at that age because you don’t roll on money (at that point in my life, I thought I would be rolling in money by the age of 35 — I was naive back then) and I had nobody I knew which whom I could be sharing one. So I ended up picking a room at the college residence.

        The first few weeks were terrible. I was keeping my door shut so nobody could even tell if there was anyone leaving there. I was going to the toilet and taking showers at times when there were little chance that I could encounter someone. It all began when the 24 other guys on my level, who were all very social, decided I had to join them in their social activities. They literally grabbed me out of my room and forced me into their social activities (I don’t want to know how they talked about it before they did that). I soon realized I liked that. And before I knew it, over the course of a few weeks, I made friends, discovered alcohol and… you’ll figure by yourself. The only think I didn’t discover that soon which would have made the thing perfect was sex, but that came a few years later (exactly 11 years, 1 month and 40 weeks ago — I’ll let you figure how I am able to count that). But I still needed to be alone most of the time.

        Over the few following months, I decided I needed to break my shell and get out of it. Of course, there wasn’t a single point when I took that decision, I don’t even think it have been a conscious decision, at least not for a while. It just went naturally, but it worked because I wanted to. I wanted to be able to show up in a store and ask for what I wanted. I wanted to be able to knock at someone’s door to ask them to join me for a beer.

        The process lasted for many years actually. I still consider myself as a shy person. I still sometimes hold the phone for many minutes with the number already dialed before I finally hit the green button, when calling someone I am not familiar with. (Yes, it’s part of why moving out is a very stressful moment for me, other than what I mentioned to you in my last email.) But I am able to do these things, and I am pretty proud of me.

        I’m a team leader. Managing employees is the main task of my job. Giving them instructions, following them to ensure they do what I expected, talk to them personally when something goes terribly wrong, and on the occasion even firing them if they don’t perform as expected. 20 years ago, if you told me I would eventually end up doing this job, I would have laughed in your face. It has never been easy, but for some reason I am really good at doing just that. In fact, most of the jobs I worked at I ended up being a supervisor of some kind (never because I asked to, always because a boss thought I would be just fine for the position).

        Let me tell you this short story. I just had got my very first job (if not counting the job at my parents restaurant). I was there for just two week when my boss (which I barely knew at that time) came to me. She said, very quickly and in a single breath, something along the lines of: “Starting tomorrow you will be supervisor. You will supervise these people and tell them what they need to do and how. I give you an increase of $1/hour.” Then she went away, never even letting me tell her I would be unable to do the job. Well, I played the supervisor for an entire year, I did great, and did very few mistakes, none of them were very important. Oh, I was even responsible for hiring my own employees, picking them myself from the resumes and calling them. And firing them.

        I’m not telling you this because I feel there is any resemblance between my situation and yours, nor because I believe that the fact that I did that by myself means that you should to. I am still trying to figure why I’m like that, so I certainly CANNOT assume anything regarding your situation. I just wanted to say that I can probably understand your feelings.

        I think I went a bit deeper into that topic that I ever did before.

        • Ooo! Where do I start!! Tom, I LOVE this sort of interaction, otherwise I wouldn’t have a blog!
          You don’t talk nonsense (one word, ‘non’ in English isn’t a word on it’s own!) at all, don’t worry about that! To go all American on you: duuuuuude. You gave me a major insight into myself, albeit unintentionally – I owe you, big-time 🙂
          From my limited understanding, French is very structured and new words are chosen and never changed – believe me, I know English is a fluid construction of many different languages (you used the word naieve – isn’t that French? Maybe naíeve? Maybe I’m making shit up again). One thing I learned a long time ago is that people with English as a second language write in it a lot better than most natives. It is the few like myself and most of my blog-friends who use it well – and the non-natives like yourself and Dianda! Of course we all make mistakes now and again, it’s a matter of usage and the amount of attention you choose to pay, and just ‘knowing.’ I can’t really tell you the rules, I just ‘know’ because I read so much – and when something sounds wrong in my head, say in a book, I re-write it mentally. If I have to do that too often, I know it is a bad writer! You are very, very good except for the occasional wrong word that is very close. Don’t stress 🙂
          I grew up in Florida – and didn’t eat oysters until I went away and came back. Raw, suck them down like the biggest snot ever. No chewing! Sort of fun, in a disgusting adventurous way. But mussels – smoked mussels are really, really good. And clams. Yum!

          Dammit, I can’t finish my response, I am so sorry. It’s late for me, and I have to take the dog to the vet first thing in the morning so I need to focus on that. Thank you, though, for all of this – and I promise I’ll be back!

          • The thought of that last night’s post came back to me often today during work. So much that I realized I forgot to answer one of your questions. A Monster is a brand of energy drink. It’s probably the second most known one after Red Bull, it’s so popular here that I didn’t realize you might not know of it.

            Mussels, oysters, clams… All the same to me. No way I will eat that. I don’t actually know the difference between these three words. Even in French we have different words to distinguish them, but my eye doesn’t understand that difference.

            I read your paragraph about French like 20 times now, and I still don’t know what to say. Actually I know what to say, but I don’t know how to say anything about it that won’t end up into an essay.

            Firstly, we in Québec speak a somewhat different dialect of French, very similar to the difference between British and American accent. Mostly the same vocabulary except for a few words, but a totally different accent and expressions. The fixed structure and vocabulary that you describe is very true of France, but we in Québec don’t adhere to that. In France, they have the Office de la Langue Française (literally ministry of the French language), which decide what words go in and what words don’t. This forces a fake, artificial evolution of the language, which is both restrictive and dumb.

            We in Québec don’t adhere to the Office. They try to impose these rules at school, but it simply doesn’t work. We let our language evolve by itself. If a word from a foreign language is commonly used and understood, it *is* a French word. Here’s an easy example. Email. When the Internet began to become in common usage, the Office invented a new word for us. The idea was that we shouldn’t include an English word in our language, we should invent one with a French root. “Courrier” is the French word for “mail”, so using that as a root they rendered “courriel”. Dare to say that word out loud here and you will be laughed at. Email works quite well. Even “web” is to English for them, they didn’t change the word, they changed the spelling. It’s pronounced exactly the same, but since “w” is not a distinct sound in French, they changed that for a combination of vowels which make the same sound: Ouèbe. Actually, people in France adhere to that in general, but in Québec we think it just sounds retarded.

            I’m pretty sure I never said “naieve”. I probably said “naive” though 🙂 The French word is spelled exactly the same in the feminine form, and spelled “naif” in masculine. Your attempt was funny though, even more because we don’t use the accent which you placed on the “i” (I don’t even know how to render that accent on that letter — let apart how that should be pronounced). That particular accent is exclusive to the letter “e” in French. We don’t use as many accents as in Spanish for example. We don’t use ü neither, a frequent mistake I noticed Dianda does.

            Do you have any particular example of “the occasional wrong word that is very close”? You say not to stress about it, but I actually didn’t like you saying that (not because it was wrong to tell me, but because I don’t want to make these mistakes — though I’m very aware I do them because I sometimes notice them when I read myself again).

            As for why we, the English wannabes, write a better English, I got a theory. Because it’s a second language and we want to learn and improve, we care. For example, if I instant message someone in French, I use ‘k’ in place of ‘c’ and ‘qu’ (these three sounds are pronounced the same in French) simply because ‘k’ is easier to type (if you type with your 10 fingers). When I instant message in English, I never ever use “u” for “you” or stuff like that. I don’t care about French, I don’t have to learn anything, and that particular message will only be read once and forgotten about (I write a perfect French in formal writing though). I want to learn English, I want to improve it. I would love that someday a reader is unable to tell it’s not my L1 language. So every single time I have to write in English, I do it the best I can. Another reason I think is because we don’t speak it in the street, so we don’t really assimilate the New York expressions (wanna, gotta — the spell checker doesn’t even put the fuzzy red line here, in what world are we?). I think we write how we think it should be written and don’t really attempt to learn what we know are bad words or bad expressions, even though we hear them all the time on TV. Even in French, we have some words and expression which we wouldn’t dare trying to render when we write, why would I attempt to do that in English? Yes I wrote “wannabes” to be funny. I’m not sure if this paragraph is really about what you meant.

            Now I’m going back the the post I began writing yesterday but never finished. Actually, I went to bed as soon as I was done writing the previous comment (can we really call that a comment at this stage?).

  2. Spectacular, girl! I’ve so wanted to comment on your last post, but my percolation-mechanism is slow. And, also, your previous post ’bout killed me in recognition of the pain.

    But this post is what I’ve been thinking about: we have to figure out SOMETHING (one word there, Tom!) about ourselves and work with it. And then keep adding to the knowledge and do more with that. Etdamncetera.

    Creatives NEED to create, dear Spiders. Since you are a writer, you are well-posed to write your way out of your existential hole–this post proves that.

    Also Brushes is a tool– not about making a particular piece of art. Rather it is a way to draw the feelings and pictures in your head–maybe heavy slashes and dots and seemingly random moves. But that’s part of the point–to move your hands to help your head. Draw kitties when/if you feel like it.

    (Discovering painting and this new art has saved my life. I don’t think I would have survived these past months without a way to create, to give myself a glimmer of the true me so that I was constantly reminded that I wasn’t composed entirely of pain and hurt brain.)

    Somewhere in philosophy (Buddhist?) is the concept of dying (figuratively!) to oneself in order to become reborn. The dying I have discovered, is excruciating, a grinding to a halt against gears that won’t go anymore (previous post). The becoming is no picnic, but it has bright spots–like the ones I see in this post.

    Hang on, girl. It’s a bumpy ride. But I hear your golden *intention* to sort through the past and settle into a more comfortable you. Use your courage, of which you have plenty.

    We DO get to choose, my dear, so many moments. It’s a balancing act: have the feelings, understand them, then move on. Ask for companionship along the way as you’re doing in your own pace. Use the quiet, but seek distraction. You don’t have to be present all the damn time–this is HARD.

    Your eloquent expression of your turmoil makes me think of my sister–running is her game and she just ran me down while I was in a crosswalk. I want her to have a different life, but she keeps choosing a certain way to be. (Never mind for the moment my own loss…)

    Do you hear that you’ve turned a corner, Spiders? I do.

    Do you see how much we care here? We may be electrons moving across a page, but we care, so we count.

    Yer gonna need 47 comment pages, what with Tom and me going on and on!

    I’m in your corner even when I’m lodged, quivering, in my own, my dear girl. –L.

    • lol someone read my comment 🙂

      I just read my comment again and can’t believe I wrote that. And that I managed to write it so badly. I’m not even sure where I wanted to go with that anymore lol

      Maybe we should both make one comment per paragraph and try to compete for the top position on her stats page!

      • I LOVED your Eddie Izzard aside about those words! I kept laughing, then holding my breath as I tried to remember where we started! hahahaha fortunately, YOU remembered and I could breathe again.

        Hmmm… let me think about that–one comment per paragraph? we might make Spiders’ head es-plode! hahahahaha! (no, wait, not hahahah that Spiders’ head might explode!)

        Nice to meetcha!

    • Turned a corner? Well, I’m peeking around it, and making sure there’s not a cartoon mouse with a frying-pan about to brain me.

      Thank you, as always, for your insights. I cogitate long and hard, or is that agitate like an old washing machine? That’s my mental image, anyway – the old open-top drums sloshing and slpooshing away until something hopefully pokes out like one perfect sock floating on top.

      You know, I think the comments lounge lately has been better than the blog. I am so happy to have all you people. I can’t imagine how lonely I would feel without this – Socks is sick of beating her head against my walls, and hubby wants to fix it, and while my sister understands a lot, she has a good and busy life and I can’t bother her every day.

      I’m running out of steam, but in other news, I have some added hope of change at work that has helped IMMENSELY with my attitude. But I’m still watching for that frying-pan, as you know they did this to me before…

      • I agree–watch out for that frying pan! it lurketh! slow-going is good–takes a while to get jumbled up and it takes a while to un-jumble. just sayin’…

        your agitate metaphor is perfect, with the one perfect sock, esp. since your lovely friend is called Socks–it is a vision to carry with you. and to hang onto by your fingernails if necessary.

        Oh, I hope so much you keep agitatin’ at work for a change. You ask for what you want and it could happen! And, yes, it’s soul-destroying to spend so much energy doing something you loathe… when I was working 32 hours a week, I figured I saw my cube-mate for more alert-time than I did Big Mister! That is flippin’ wrong… but I bet you know what I mean.

        You know how I feel about the incredible support I’ve received — all I had to do was tell my truth, and you all showed up and propped me up when I so badly needed it. (Some of you even flung dung on my behalf!)

        And furthermore–ask the Universe for what you want, or even just ask for help–you don’t have to know the details. *When* you know the details, spell it out–the Universe will provide. Don’t go all woo-woo on me–interconnectedness and quantum theory….

        I can’t count the number of times I’ve begged for help to get through these last months…. the help showed up and all I did was ask. My friend showed up with mixed media books and here I am….

        Ooo, keep writing–I love reading your writing, girl!

  3. Pingback: La la la land | heretherebespiders

Thoughts? Gardening tips? Cocktail recipes? Don't just like and leave, please - I can talk for Ireland and would love to prove it!

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